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\ 







THE KING’S POWDER 



BOOKS BY ALBERTtTS T. DUDLEY 


Pfjtlltps lEreter Series 

Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth. 

FOLLOWING THE BALL. 
MAKING THE NINE. 

IN THE LINE. 

WITH MASK AND MITT. 

THE GREAT YEAR. 

THE YALE CUP. 

A FULL-BACK AFLOAT. 

THE PECKS IN CAMP. 

THE HALF-MILER. 


Stories of tfje triangular league 

Illustrated by Charles Copeland. 12mo. Cloth. 

THE SCHOOL FOUR. 

AT THE HOME-PLATE. 

THE UNOFFICIAL PREFECT. 


THE KING’S POWDER 


LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON. 































































* 















































Zeb caught his gun-barrel under the bayonet and lifted. 

Page 57. 






THE 

KING’S POWDER 


BY 


ALBERTUS T. ; DUDLEY 




ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN GOSS 



BOSTON 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 









Copyright, 1923 , 

By Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. 
All Rights Reserved 
The King’s Powder 



©Cl A711794 


PRINTED IN U. S. A. 


NORWOOD PRESS 

BERWICK & SMITH CO. 

NORWOOD, MASS. 


SFP10 '23 





ILLUSTRATIONS 


Zeb caught his gun-barrel under the bayonet and 
lifted. (Page 57). Frontispiece 


FACING 

PAGE 


Shouldered the casks and passed up the central 
aisle.86 


“What do you mean by putting this shame upon 
us?”.132 

“You cannot frighten me, Captain Mowatt!” . 248 

“Stay where you are!” he commanded . . . 318 

“The powder, sir!” shouted Zeb.392 




PART ONE 


HOW IT WAS GOT 



THE KING’S POWDER 


CHAPTER I 

One morning early in October, 1774, a young 
man, carrying a fowling-piece and a game-bag, 
approached the Lamprey River half a mile 
above the clam-bank along which it squirms 
its way into Great Bay, in southeastern New 
Hampshire. He halted at the edge of the steep 
incline and glanced across the river toward a 
skiff moored to a post within the low-water 
line. 

“Not here yet!” he said to himself, with a 
gleam of amusement in his honest eyes. 
“Dreadful slow in gettin’ ’cross country for a 
spry little lad. But he’ll be here; John Spen¬ 
cer never went back on me yet.” 

He took the bank in half a dozen long 
plunges, caught foothold on a stone at the 
water’s edge and leaped lightly over five feet 
of water to a large flat-topped rock, where he 
squatted down to wait, with the gun between 
his knees. A modern football coach, trans- 

9 


10 


THE KING’S POWDER 


ported back a century and a half, would have 
had his joy in the sight of Zeb Giddinge. 
Broad, square back, heavy shoulders, deep 
chest, thighs that could lift and ankles that 
could spring, self-control and steadiness in the 
quiet glance of blue eyes—here was material 
for a tackle that the most highly-placed coach 
would be glad to have under his hand. 

But athletic games in our modern sense were 
things undreamed of by the country boys of 
Revolutionary days. To them school was 
school, not play, despite the Latin equivalent, 
and physical strength was valuable chiefly for 
physical work. Zeb had not distinguished 
himself as a scholar in the Exeter Grammar 
School. He had not satisfied Master John 
Frothingham even in Liber Primus. As for 
the elaborate diction which the master taught 
and the town-meeting orators practised, Zeb 
could absorb none of it, though in mathe¬ 
matics and practical problems he made a very 
fair showing. In these days he would have 
been sent to a technical school; Zeb’s father 
apprenticed him to a blacksmith and concen¬ 
trated his hopes for a family scholar on Ezekiel, 
his younger son. 


THE KING’S POWDER 


11 


Presently a youth of slighter build, but ac¬ 
tive and strong, came tearing down the oppo¬ 
site bank. As he laid hold of the lines that 
tethered the skiff to the shore, he shouted a 
greeting to the boy on the rock. 

“You started ahead of time, Zeb,” John 
Spencer declared, as he drew near with the 
boat. 

“The clock struck six before I left the 
house,” returned Zeb. “We said six, and six 
it was.” 

“Then you ran.” 

“No, I walked. I didn’t sit down every ten 
minutes to rest.” 

“I guess you didn’t,” grumbled John. “I 
don’t see how you get over the ground at such a 
rate! You had farther to go from Exeter than 
I had from Durham. How do you like black- 
smithing?” 

“Well enough. It’s something to do, and 
doin’ comes a sight more natural to me than 
talkin’ or tryin’ to construe Cicero.” 

“Did that man from Hawke ever come down 
to throw you, as he said he was going to?” 

“I haven’t wrestled a bout for six months.” 

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard that I’m go- 


12 


THE KING’S POWDER 


ing into Squire Scammell ’s office to study 
law?” 

Zeb smiled. 4 ‘No, I haven’t. Our crier 
didn’t get that news. I shouldn’t think your 
father would approve of that.” 

“Why not?” 

“Squire Scammell isn’t exactly a Tory, is 
he?” 

“No, he isn’t a Tory—almost no one is, for 
that matter, except Father—but he isn’t so out¬ 
spoken as Mr. Sullivan, and he does a good 
deal of business for Colonel Atkinson down in 
Portsmouth who is as Tory as Governor Went¬ 
worth himself. I’m to start in at the office 
to-morrow. ’ ’ 

“I wish you luck,” said Zeb, “though I 
wouldn’t care for the job myself. How’s the 
Durham company cornin’ on? Has your father 
given you permission to train?” 

John shook his head without answering, as 
if the subject were too unpleasant to talk 
about. 

“Oh, he’ll come round after a while,” went 
on Zeb, encouragingly. “These gentlemen 
who think submission is the only course open 
to us will have to give in when they find out 


THE KING’S POWDER 


13 


how strong the feeling is among the folks.” 

“My father will never give in,” declared 
John, gloomily. “He doesn't talk much, but 
when he has once made up his mind, nobody 
can move him. He says all this training of the 
militia serves only to make us more insolent 
and the ministry more obstinate. He says it's 
madness to talk of resisting.” 

“And I say if we're goin' to get any ducks 
we’d best stop talkin' politics and keep our 
eyes peeled,” said Zeb. “We may have to 
fight some time and we may not, but to-day 
we’re out after ducks. Keep in closer to the 
point. We may get a shot at something on 
the other side.” 

John Spencer was six months younger than 
Zeh, who had already passed his eighteenth 
birthday. Their friendship, begun four years 
before on the day when John first appeared as 
an out-of-town pupil in Master Frothingham’s 
school, had ripened into a steady contentment 
in each other’s society such as two hoys will 
delight in but never sentimentalize over. Zeb 
liked John for his honesty and good humor, for 
the very vivacity and nimbleness of thought 
which Zeb himself lacked. John adored Zeh 


14 


THE KING’S POWDER 


for his rugged loyalty to friends and principle, 
for his ability to do better than any one else 
whatever could be done with hands or feet. 
Though they occasionally disagreed, they never 
quarreled; even the malicious cleverness of 
schoolmates was powerless to keep them long 
arrayed on opposite sides. 

That this team play was not a question of 
leader and follower was shown by the spice of 
rivalry that seasoned the pleasure of all their 
common ventures. On this morning of Zeb’s 
holiday they had arranged that each should 
start from his home at six, and meet midway 
for their expedition. Beaten in the unavowed 
but none the less recognized race for the tryst- 
ing-place, John fixed his ambition on the ap¬ 
proaching contest with the fowling-pieces, hop¬ 
ing that by the help of fortune he might rees¬ 
tablish his credit. 

But fortune went against him. When he 
turned the bow of the skiff back toward the 
Lamprey River late in the day, he had secured 
but four ducks while Zeb’s bag numbered eight. 
Neither had wasted a shot, but Zeb seemed to 
know exactly when the birds were about to rise. 
While it was, in fact, no disgrace to be beaten 


THE KING’S POWDER 


15 


by Zeb, John felt disgusted with himself that he 
had fallen so far short of Zeb’s standard. He 
wouldn’t have taken a single one from Zeb’s 
total, but he held himself harshly to account for 
his own small score. 

4 ‘You can’t get over there,” said Zeb, slowly, 
from his seat in the stern. “The tide’s too 
low. ’ ’ 

“I guess we’ll scrape across,” John an¬ 
swered, and bent to his oars. 

Before them, covered by the water, lay the 
narrow neck that connected the big expanse of 
flats with the shore. At low tide both the neck 
and the flats are exposed; at high water the 
deepest sailboat on the Bay would not touch 
the tips of the eelgrass with its keel. To circle 
the flats and reach the mouth of the river in¬ 
volved an additional row of at least a mile. 

John’s oar-blades dipped into marsh-grass. 
“Better go back while you can,” warned Zeb. 
“You can’t get over: I can tell from my mark 
on the big brown rock. ’ ’ 

But John was not yet willing to acknowledge 
himself wrong. He shipped one oar, and pol¬ 
ing with the other, succeeded in pushing the 
boat a rod farther on. Then, with the bow nos- 


16 


THE KING’S POWDER 


ing the clam-bank, and the stern caught fast in 
the tangle of a grass tussock, he found himself 
helpless. 

“Stuck!” he ejaculated. “What a fool I 
am!” 

Zeb made no comment. He had taken off his 
shoes and was now at work on his stockings. 
John caught a glimpse of a smooth oily sur¬ 
face ahead on the right, and grew excited. 

“Here, Zeb,” he called, “grab hold of that 
oar and pry the stern away from that bunch. 
We may be able to back out.” 

“You can’t back out,” returned Zeb, “the 
keel will foul and we’d be worse off than ever. 
Sit down here where I am and let me see what 
I can do with her.” 

“Let me go!” cried John, but Zeb had al¬ 
ready swung himself over the stern. His feet 
sank to the firm foundation of clay and grass 
roots. Grasping the gunwales with his strong 
hands, he lifted stern and passenger, and floun¬ 
dering forward, rushed the boat up the slippery 
incline until her nose projected beyond the 
ridge. There he held steady until John could 
transfer his weight to the bow, when with a 
mighty shove he drove the boat over the eleva- 


THE KING’S POWDER 


17 


tion and pushed it down the slope into deeper 
water. 

“You ought to have let me do that,” pro¬ 
tested John. “It was my fault.” 

“You couldn’t,” answered Zeb, as he swished 
his feet in the water to wash off the mud and 
clinging stalks of grass. Without a word of 
fault-finding, though his breeches were soaked 
to the middle of his thigh, Zeb addressed him¬ 
self to the tasik of replacing stockings and 
shoes. 

All the way to the mooring-place they argued 
Zeb’s proposal that the game be equally di¬ 
vided, that is, John expostulated volubly, while 
Zeb merely smiled and said that it should be 
so. Zeb carried his point, for John perceived 
in the end that the hurt to his pride was easier 
to bear than the thought of wounding his 
friend’s generous heart and breaking an old 
custom. Zeb waited on the shore till his com¬ 
rade had secured the boat on the other side of 
the river and climbed the bank; then he waved 
a farewell and fell into his long stride. 

“Good old Zeb!” thought John, as he 
watched the square shoulders disappear into a 
clump of trees. “He has beaten me at all 


18 


THE KING’S POWDER 


points to-day, but I’ll have my turn some time. 
I wonder what kind of a soldier he makes. 
He’ll carry a musket like a feather, but I’ll 
wager he hasn’t yet mastered the manual of 
arms. How I’d like to be in the company with 
him!” 

Two months later, or more precisely, on the 
morning of December 13th, 1774, John Spencer 
was on horseback headed towa?rd Exeter. In 
the pocket of his heavy woolen jacket he bore 
a letter addressed to Squire Scammell which 
had been left in his charge by a messenger the 
night before. The letter was from no less a 
personage than Colonel Theodore Atkinson of 
Portsmouth, president of the Governor’s Coun¬ 
cil, collector, naval officer, and high sheriff of 
the province, the owner by purchase of one-fifth 
the total of Mason’s Grant. Mr. Scammell be¬ 
ing absent for the night on a commission for 
this same aristocrat to his great estate at At¬ 
kinson near the Merrimac, the young man had 
reasoned that here was a chance to show dili¬ 
gence in his master’s business. By riding over 
to meet him at Exeter, John would enable the 
squire, if he so desired, to divert his journey 


THE KING’S POWDER 


19 


to Portsmouth in the'interest of this important 
client. 

John Spencer was disposed to be cheerful 
that morning, despite the dull gray sky, the cut¬ 
ting east wind, the monotonous clump-clump of 
the heavy-footed old mare in the half-frozen 
mud of the roadway. He was pleased to be 
quit, for the day, of the dingy little office, to 
feel that he was doing Scammell a service, to 
have in prospect a call on Zeb. From a height 
near Newmarket he caught a glimpse of the 
gray shallows of the Bay, where Zeb and he had 
spent their last day together—and his cheerful¬ 
ness received something of a chill. His per¬ 
sonal problem had grown more difficult during 
the intervening weeks. His heart had seized 
strongly on the popular opinion that there were 
limits beyond which free men could not be ex¬ 
pected to yield to oppression. It seemed nat¬ 
ural and right that Englishmen should resist 
tyranny under whatsoever form. 

Unfortunately, these were not his father’s 
views. The louder the popular clamor about 
him grew, the more tenaciously did the older 

I 

man hold to his ideals of loyalty to King and 


20 


THE KING’S POWDER 


Parliament. Gideon Spencer was Tory both by 
sympathy and by association. His business 
connections were with the commercial set whose 
interest lay in non-resistance. As a cautious 
man, surrounded by a horde of fanatics, he 
avoided public discussion. In the bosom of his 
family, however, when chafed by continual self- 
repression, he sometimes loosened the guard on 
his tongue. Then John would learn that the 
members of the Provincial Congress were 
demagogues, leading the people along the path 
of ruin, that the armed bands were training for 
their own destruction, that the provincials were 
ingrates, traitors, overweening fools. 

“He hasn’t yielded an inch,” thought the 
boy, gloomily. “I wonder if he ever will 
change. If he doesn’t, where shall I be—with 
the province against my father, or with my 
father against the province?” 

There was no real doubt in John Spencer’s 
mind as to which horn of the dilemma he must 
choose, when choice had to be made, but he 
looked forward with dread and sorrow to the 
fatal day when he should be forced to take a 
stand in opposition to his father. With a 
shrug and a deep breath he shook off the un- 



THE KING’S POWDER 


21 


pleasant thought, as he came in sight of Exeter 
along the stretch of road that skirts the river. 
In the familiar landmarks that met his eye, 
there was much to arouse pleasurable recollec¬ 
tions of school days. Beyond the ridge lay 
James Hackett’s shipyard, a three-hundred- 
ton brig on the stocks; he had whiled away 
many a diverting half-hour with Old Zeb in this 
yard, watching the shipwrights ply broadax 
and auger. Across the little roadstead two 
vessels nestled close to Gilman’s wharf; he 
had seen many such discharging their cargoes 
—hogsheads of molasses, puncheons of rum, 
salt shovelled in bulk from the hold. Above, 
in the background, he marked the dormer win¬ 
dows of the “seat” of Nicholas Gilman who 
occupied the anomalous position of personal 
friend of the governor and patriot leader. 
Madam Gilman, a friend of his mother, used 
now and then to invite him to tea. Still farther 
back peeped out from the bare branches of the 
trees the square tower of the meeting-house, 
where in the corner of Master Frothingham’s 
pew he had often sat, gazing absent-mindedly 
up at Parson Odlin in his roofed perch, per¬ 
petually amazed that it was possible for the 


22 


THE KING’S POWDER 


human mind to contrive within the space of six 
days two such long, logical, and stately dis¬ 
courses. Across the river stood out, in soli¬ 
tary security, the little brick powder-house 
built three years before when the Stamp Act 
had set the bolder spirits to talking resistance. 
There was little in the local magazine, as John 
knew well, for Zeb and he had been present once 
when it was opened at muster time. If its emp¬ 
tiness was typical of the military resources of 
the colony, there might be as much truth as 
rhetoric in Gideon Spencer’s assertion that the 
provincials had nothing to fight with but a 
limitless supply of words, and a half-filled pow¬ 
der-horn apiece. 


CHAPTER II 


In the heart of the village, close by the rocky 
incline down which the fresh water pours to 
mingle with the salt, stood (and yet stands) 
Folsom’s tavern. Here Alexander Scammell 
always put up when he passed through the 
town, and here toward noon of December thir¬ 
teenth John Spencer left the gray mare to the 
care of the head hostler, and hurried over to 
Joel Barker’s shop hard by to get a word with 
Zeb before the dinner hour. He pushed open 
the big sliding-door far enough to slip through, 
shut it behind him, and dodging down the long 
building glanced from apron to apron in search 
of Zeb. Three forge fires were droning their 
song to the beat of the creaking bellows; horses 
stood ranked against the wall in process of 
shoeing; a bewildered ox slung in a frame 
rolled his eyes in dumb protest against the lib¬ 
erties taken with his hind feet. The master 

himself was overseeing the ironing of a heavy 

23 


24 


THE KING’S POWDER 


sled. Joel lifted his eyes for an instant from 
his work to give the newcomer an unsmiling 
nod. 

“Where’s Zeb, Mr. Barker?” asked Spencer, 
shouting to make himself heard. “I want to 
arrange to see him when he gets off for din¬ 
ner.” 

Joel jerked his head toward his right shoul¬ 
der and went on with his work. In the direc¬ 
tion indicated by the nod John saw a door and 
made haste to escape through it out of the 
shower of sparks that rose from the anvil. He 
found himself in a narrow space, between the 
shop and the river, in the midst of which blazed 
a circle of fire. 

“Old Zeb!” he cried, running with out¬ 
stretched hand toward the big fellow who was 
poking at the burning wood with a long iron 
rod. But Zeb, though his smooched face lighted 
up with pleasure, waved back the hand and con¬ 
tinued to nurse his fire. 

“After I wash up,” he said composedly. 

‘ ‘ There’s no use in getting your hand dirty be¬ 
cause mine is,—though they do say some of the 
lawyer chaps haven’t any too clean hands. 
What’s up? What are you doing here?” 


THE KING’S POWDER 


25 


“I’m over here on an errand. When do yon 
get your nooning?” 

“As soon as this tire’s set.” 

“I’ll wait and see you do it.” 

“Better wait inside. If it doesn’t go on well, 
Joel may think you got in the way.” 

A few minutes later, when Zeb, having 
thrown off his apron, stood rubbing his hands 
with soft soap over a bucket of water, the con¬ 
versation was renewed. 

“Has your father changed his mind about the 
training?” asked Zeb. 

John reddened and glanced away. “No, he 
says all this pretended preparation for war is 
folly. In a war with England we shouldn’t 
have the ghost of a chance; if it came to a battle 
w T ith the regulars our militia would run like 
sheep. His idea is that we shall get something 
by yielding and lose everything by fighting. ’ ’ 

“I don’t suppose he says that much outside,” 
remarked Zeb. 

“No, but he says it to us at home and he be¬ 
lieves it. According to him we haven’t any¬ 
thing to fight with; there isn’t powder enough 
in Durham to-day to last a company ten rounds. 
Now that the ministry has cut off importation 


26 


THE KING’S POWDER 


of munitions of war, we’re helpless. You see, 
he knows a great deal that we don’t know, and 
besides, he feels it a kind of treason even to 
think of resisting.” 

“And do you feel that way, too?” 

“No, I don’t, but I’m not going to break with 
my father just to join in the training. If the 
trouble is patched up, I sha’n’t he needed; if we 
have to fight, I can find a place somewhere.” 

“It will never be patched up,” said Zeb, pre¬ 
paring to leave the shop. ‘ ‘ They say the King 
is pig-headed and Parliament is bribed to do 
just what he wants. The best men over there 
are with us but they can’t accomplish anything 
against that crowd of pensioners and office¬ 
holders. And over here we’re growing more 
bitter every day.” 

“Aren’t there any Tories in Exeter?” asked 
John. 

Zeb laughed. “Just one, Brigadier Peter 
Gilman. He’s on the Governor’s council and 
can’t help being a Tory, but he is an old man, 
and as long as he keeps quiet, they let him 
alone.” 

The boys walked toward Zeb’s home, still en¬ 
gaged in serious talk. “Now about our not 


THE KING'S POWDER 


27 


having anything to fight with,” said Zeb. 
“There's plenty of powder at Fort William 
and Mary in Portsmouth harbor. It belongs to 
the province, although, of course, it is claimed 
as the King's.” 

“And there's a guard of the governor's sol¬ 
diers there to defend it,'' returned John 
promptly. 

“We might take it in spite of the soldiers.” 

“Yes, you might try it; and when you got 
there you might find it had all been carried off 
to Boston. The first thing they do when 
they're afraid of a revolt in a country is to 
take away all arms. Any day now a man-of- 
war may put into Portsmouth and carry every¬ 
thing away.'' 

“You've hit the iron square on the welding 
there, Johnny,” exclaimed Zeb. “There's 
more than one person in this town worrying 
about that powder. We may be badly off for 
it to defend ourselves some day, and it ought 
to be in our hands. What I'm afraid of is that 
we'll hang fire till it's too late. It's twenty- 
five miles from here to the fort by river, but 
I’d go to-morrow if there was a call for volun¬ 
teers.” 


28 


THE KING’S POWDER 


“But that would be rebellion!” cried Spen¬ 
cer. 

Zeb hunched his broad shoulders contemptu¬ 
ously. 

“I’m not afraid of that name. We’re all 
rebels in their eyes now, and I’d liefer be a 
rebel with the province than one of a handful 
of Tories against it. Besides, a hundred bar¬ 
rels of powder at this time is worth sacrificing 
something for. A few lives would be a cheap 
price to pay for it.” 

“Not your life, Zeb!” 

“Why not? Didn’t men die by the hundreds 
in the French war, men who had left wives and 
young families behind? Didn’t our grand¬ 
fathers go out after the Indians not knowing 
whether they’d ever see home again? I ain’t 
afeared to risk my life, though I don’t think I’d 
give it up without a fight. I tell you, John, we 
need that powder, and some one’s got to get it. 
I’d like a chance to do something.” 

They were at Zeb’s gate now, and John stood 
silent, but thinking hard and kicking his toe ab¬ 
sent-mindedly against the base of the post. 
His own heart echoed every patriotic sentiment 
Zeb had expressed; eagerness for action was as 


THE KING’S POWDER 


29 


strong in his breast as in his friend’s. But 
Zeb could act when he chose, while he must 
wait, supported only by the hope that the 
father’s stern loyalty might not always be 
forced upon the son. 

* 4 Come in and eat dinner with us, ’ ’ Zeb pro¬ 
posed. 

“Thank you,” replied John, gathering him¬ 
self together. “I must catch Scammell when 
he stops for dinner. I’ve been away too long 
now. ’ ’ 

As he hurried into the stable yard behind 
Folsom’s tavern, he came face to face at the 
first corner with a tall, thin-faced, sandy-haired 
man in the late twenties, booted and spurred, 
his great-coat spotted with mud. It was Alex¬ 
ander Scammell. 

“Oh, ho! Playing truant, are you?” he called 
with a cheerful smile. “If you wanted to es¬ 
cape me, you should have put up Whitey at 
another stable.” 

“I didn’t want to escape you, sir,” exclaimed 
John. “I came on purpose to find you. Colo¬ 
nel Atkinson’s man brought a letter last night 
which he said was to be delivered to you as 
soon as possible. I thought perhaps you might 


30 


THE KING’S POWDER 


want to go right on to Portsmouth, so I rode 
over to catch you.” 

“And you didn’t care anything at all about 
seeing Zeb Giddinge or getting a day off from 
the office! Quite right. Let’s have the letter. 
We’ll see whether it is worth all your sacri¬ 
fice. ’ ’ 

John watched his patron’s face as he broke 
the seal, spread out the closely folded sheet, 
and read steadily on. The lawyer’s smile faded 
with the first lines; his expression seemed now 
sorrowful, now defiant. When he had finished, 
he folded the letter carefully together and put 
it away in a big wallet which he drew forth 
from one of the capacious pockets of his great¬ 
coat. Then turning to John, he said, as one 
who has forcibly put from him an unpleasant 
subject, “Now let’s in to dinner. We have 
both earned our rations to-day.” 

But John was not so easily contented. “I 
hope I did right in bringing it,’’ he said. “You 
have such important business with Secretary 
Atkinson—” 

“Quite right,” said Scammell. “I shall ride 
on to Portsmouth after dinner and see him. I 
shall be sorry to break with him, for he is a 


THE KING'S POWDER 


31 


good old man, true to his notions of duty and 
loyalty, and he has shown me in one way or 
another much kindness. It is strange that he 
has not a better understanding of the temper of 
the province. ” 

“Is it really a break?” 

Scammell nodded. “Unless I ‘separate my¬ 
self forthwith from the evil men who are seek¬ 
ing for their own selfish purposes to foment dis¬ 
cord among a contented and loyal people!’ 
That’s the way he puts it. I suppose that both 
he and the governor imagine that the people, 
if let alone, would be as submissive as lambs 
to any impositions that the ministry may choose 
to put upon them. He does not know us!” 

When Scammell and John Spencer entered 
the dining-room of the tavern, Landlord Fol¬ 
som was already seated, carving-knife in hand, 
at the head of his table. The places were soon 
filled with hearty, vigorous men, ready of 
speech and assertive. The difference in their 
opinions on the great question of resisting op¬ 
pression seemed one of degree only; they were 
all on the same side. A farmer named Icha- 
bod Hollings, who had just brought in a four- 
ox wagon-load of produce from Poplin, smote 


32 


THE KING’S POWDER 


tlie table with his big red hand and declared, 
“Up in my country we’re ready for the fight 
now. Give us powder and lead and we ’ll march 
to Boston and show ’em we can pick off red¬ 
coats as easy as redskins. We ain’t afeared 
and we owe ’em nothing. We cut out our little 
farms from the woods with our own hands; we 
fit for ’em at Louisburg and Quebec. We can 
fight again. ” And when Mr. Folsom suggested 
that the proper course at present was to wait 
and see if the ministry would not listen to 
reason, and in the meantime prepare for re¬ 
sistance—the patriot shouted out that if they 
kept on waiting they’d see Portsmouth bottled 
up like Boston and a company of King’s reg¬ 
ulars quartered in Exeter. 

The majority, however, opined that the mili¬ 
tia was raw and ill-found, and that nothing 
should be done unless some overt act were com¬ 
mitted against the rights of the province. The 
governor was not an aggressive man, and his 
whole military force consisted of a corporal’s 
guard at the fort in Newcastle. “There’ll be 
more afore long,” insisted the pugnacious back- 
countryman. “Thousands of soldiers are on 
their way across the ocean. They’re bound to 


THE KING’S POWDER 


33 


break us. Mark my words, unless we knuckle 
under, every town on the coast will be in the 
same fix as Boston, come winter.’’ 

Just then a newcomer arrived who had rid¬ 
den straight from Boston. He brought star¬ 
tling news. The order in council forbidding 
the shipment of military stores to the colonies 
haj been followed by personal instructions to 
thejgovernors. They were to seize and hold for 
the | royal government all public deposits of 
arms and ammunition. Paul Revere had set 
out that very day for Portsmouth to carry a 
warning from the Boston patriots that Gage 
was to send a regiment to take possession of 
the forts in the harbor. 

“What did I tell you!” shouted the violent 
man, from the back-country. “That’s what ye 
are waiting for, and there ain’t a keg o’ pow¬ 
der in all Poplin.” 

“There isn’t much more in my town,” said 
Scammell, “nor in any other one place in the 
province, as far as I know, except the hundred 
barrels in Fort William and Mary. We can’t 
sit still and see that taken from us!” 

“When the troops really start for Ports- 
mouth, the news will travel ahead of them, ’ ’ re- 


34 


THE KING’S POWDER 


marked the man who sat directly opposite John. 
“The Portsmouth men could remove the pow¬ 
der while the soldiers were on the way. ’ ’ 

“But suppose they come by sea?” suggested 
John, plucking up the requisite courage to ask 
a question. “There are half a dozen men-of- 
war in Boston harbor.” 

“The boy is right,” called the man from Pop¬ 
lin. “That’s just what they will do. A couple 
of war-ships will get a fair wind from Boston 
overnight, slip up with the first tide in the 
morning and have the stuff out of the fort be¬ 
fore the Portsmouth jacks get their eyes open. 
What would they do, anyway—a parcel of rich 
ship owners! Why, they’d just as lief as not 
have cows pasturin’ in the streets of Boston 
and every honest patriot in New Hampshire 
sent to England to be hung for a traitor, if they 
thought it would help ’em keep their grants 
and get safe voyages for their precious car¬ 
goes!” 

“There are good patriots a-plenty in Ports¬ 
mouth even among the owners and merchants,” 
protested Scammell. “They’ll act with spirit 
when the time comes.” 

“If we’ve got to depend on that nest of Tor- 


THE KING’S POWDER 


35 


ies, we may as well give up hope of the powder 
right now,” retorted the other. “What I want 
to know is where are we going to get any to 
take its place? I’ve got three hoys who’ll 
march at the first call, but they can’t fight with 
pitchforks, and who’s ever going to make this 
mess of colonies act, and act together!” 

Scammell and John Spencer discussed the 
Poplin man as they waited for their horses in 
the tavern yard. “A violent fellow hut true¬ 
hearted,” said the lawyer. “He isn’t so 
blinded by his patriotism that he can’t see 
where our weakness lies. There are thousands 
like him in the colony, and thousands more who 
talk war and union with no comprehension at 
all of the obstacles. In the end, resistance is 
better than cowardly submission to tyranny, 
but we must count the cost and act wisely and 
together. ’ ’ 

“But he’s wrong about the people in Ports¬ 
mouth. It isn’t a ne-st of Tories!” 

“He’s wrong as to his facts and right as to 
his fears. The people everywhere are loyal to 
the colony, but the leading men in Portsmouth 
are cautious. To seize the powder would be 
to defy the government and embitter Parlia- 


36 


THE KING’S POWDER 


ment still more against us. They hesitate to 
cross the Rubicon. Personally, I am afraid 
that the men down there will wait too long, 
and tind that they have lost their means 
of defence without gaining a single concession. 
I believe the King is bound to have his way 
with us if he has to use half his army to subdue 
us.” 

As John rode slowly homeward at old Whit- 
ey’s own pace, he had full leisure to consider 
the direction in which his eager sympathies 
were leading. He could no longer be in doubt 
as to the part which he should choose when the 
time for choice came. He was on the side of 
Scammell and Squire Sullivan, of Zeb and Hol- 
lings, of the great mass of men high and low 
throughout the province who valued their char¬ 
tered rights more than peace and comfort and 
the right to buy and sell in British markets. 

“But what shall I say to Father!” John 
asked himself as old Whitey pounded on 
over the frozen clods, up hill and down, along 
the river road. “I must be honest about it, of 
course, but why disturb him by bragging of 
what I mean to do until the chance comes to do 
it! He sets no value on my opinion. It will 


THE KING’S POWDER 


37 


be better to wait until the time actually comes. 
When I have to decide whether to enlist or 
skulk at home while others fight, then I’ll 
speak out. It may be that the storm will blow 
over. It might even happen, if things go from 
bad to worse, that Father himself will change 
his views. I’ll just keep my mouth shut and 
bide my time.” 

With thoughts still a-flutter, but firm in his 
general purpose, John passed the home meet¬ 
ing-house and reined down old Whitey to the 
orthodox walk across the bridge at Durham 
Falls. Abundant water foamed unused past 
the stone foundation of the sawmill. The great 
dreary wheel stood like a sleeping monster 
waiting patiently until the snow in the 
woods should be deep enough for easy 
hauling. Lines of thin ice clinging to the 
edges of the salt-water basin showed that 
the river was feeling the grip of freezing 
nights. The wharves, with one exception, were 
trimmed snug for the winter; sailing craft 
stripped of canvas hung in cradles above high- 
water mark along the shore; desolate-looking 
scows rested at double anchor high on the flats. 
In a fortnight, perhaps, the whole harbor would 


38 


THE KING’S POWDER 


be frozen bard from shore to shore, and he 
might be strapping on his skates at one of these 
very wharves. 

Beyond the bridge, he passed the parsonage 
where lived the Reverend Jonathan Adams, the 
staunchest patriot in town. John saw two girls 
talking together at the gate, the parson’s 
dainty daughter, Priscilla, and Jane Thompson, 
who never wholly forgot that her father, the 
deacon, paid the biggest tax in town. John 
bowed and smiled as he drew near. J ane 
merely stared and turned away, while Priscilla 
inclined her head just far enough to show that 
she understood her duty as the minister’s 
daughter, but reserved her right to refuse her 
friendship to the unworthy. 

John slapped old Whitey’s neck with the 
bridle rein, and thumped his spurless heels 
against her flanks. The horse lurched forward 
into an ungainly amble. The consciousness 
that he was cutting an awkward figure on the 
clumsy old farm-horse added a pang to the 
boy’s mortification. 

“I’m a Tory, am I!” he said to himself, bit¬ 
terly. “They’ve decided it for me beforehand 
and want to show what they think of me. 


THE KING’S POWDER 


39 


Sometime I’ll show them what I think of them. 
What do I care for the hussies! They merely 
twitter after the old birds in the nests. The 
thing is serious for me.” 

So, jogging onward to Scammell’s stable, he 
tried to put the hostility of the girls from him 
as something unworthy of consideration. Yet 
he did consider it many times during the day 
and the smart of injustice would not be soothed 
by superior masculine argument. What the 
Thompson girl might think, or her father 
either, in fact mattered little to him, but the 
cut from Priscilla Adams rankled. Priscilla 
and he had been good friends from childhood. 
At the merry-makings of the young people, the 
huskings, the pop-corn parties in the big kitch¬ 
ens, the pung rides over the hills, she had never 
shown displeasure at his attentions. Priscilla 
certainly knew him well enough to be sure that 
he would do nothing that he did not think hon¬ 
orable and right; she might at least have given 
some consideration to his peculiar position, 
might have withheld her snubs until she knew 
on which side he stood. 

“Some day I’ll pay her back, the little cat ! ?1 
he thought, with that vague confidence in 


40 


THE KING’S POWDER 


achievements to come which is at the same time 
the folly and the inspiration of young people. 
And he pictured to himself his return as a hero 
from some great adventure, riding gallantly on 
the spirited Dolly, and Priscilla consumed with 
mortification and regret that he no longer no¬ 
ticed her. 

But he felt very unlike a hero as he sat at the 
supper table, eating his father’s bread, yet 
planning treachery against him. Gideon Spen¬ 
cer was a reserved man who talked little at the 
family table. Usually he sat in silence, allow¬ 
ing the children to chatter about their little af¬ 
fairs in a fashion not common in those days, 
speaking only when he had a practical question 
to ask or a direction to give. To-night he 
stilled the prattle of the children with a sharp 
command and turning a grave face to his oldest 
son, inquired: 

“What are they saying in Exeter V 9 

“They say Brigadier Peter Gilman is the 
only Tory in town,” answered John, catching 
at random the topic which was foremost in his 
thoughts. 

“As I and Elijah Benner are the only Tories 
here. Do they talk rebellion V 9 


THE KING’S POWDER 


41 


‘ ‘ They don’t call it rebellion, Father, but they 
talk fight.” 

“And they imagine that with their feeble mi¬ 
litia, without arms or supplies, they can hold 
off the King’s regulars under generals that 
have never been defeated?” 

“I don’t know what they expect, sir, but they 
mean to fight for their rights if they are forced 
to.” 

“I believe the whole province has gone mad, 
all New England, for that matter. Instead of 
learning a lesson from the plight of Boston, 
these men are determined to put us in New 
Hampshire in the same position. The result 
will be that the prosperity of the New England 
colonies will be stamped out under the heels of 
His Majesty’s soldiers.” 

“But won’t the other colonies help us?” 

“No, they will send delegates to congresses, 
but they are too selfish to fight for any cause 
that is not their own. New York will be glad 
to profit by Boston’s fall. If our leaders were 
only sagacious enough to bend to the storm and 
suffer injustice for a time until the sentiment in 
England changes, all might yet come right. As 
it is, the hot-heads are rushing us straight to 


42 


THE KING’S POWDER 


destruction. What is to become of a loyal sub¬ 
ject who has all his property in this madhouse, 
Heaven only knows.’’ 

“You’ll have to turn patriot, sir,” suggested 
John, with a quaking at heart. 

“Rebel, you mean!” answered his father, 
sternly. “Not I. I am a faithful subject of 
the king, as my father was before me, I ac¬ 
knowledge the authority of Parliament, even 
when its acts are unjust, and I appreciate what 
these demagogues would fain be blind to, the 
overwhelming power of the royal army. The 
regulars will crush our imitation soldiery as 
Big Joe would crush a dry leaf in his hand. 
But there will be hatred and bitterness for a 
long time after. ’Tis a sad prospect to have to 
side with the conqueror of one’s own neigh¬ 
bors.” 

Gideon Spencer fell into a brooding silence 
and John perceived with relief that the fatal 
question as to his own opinion was not to be 
asked. The son’s loyalty was evidently taken 
for granted. When Mr. Spencer spoke again, 
it was of business. 

“I must go to Lee to-morrow, to see that the 
sawmill is ready against the first fall of snow. 


THE KING’S POWDER 


43 


I want you to ride over to Portsmouth, pay 
Secretary Atkinson the twenty-two pounds, ten 
shillings due on the fifteenth and get his re¬ 
ceipt. Give him my compliments and ask for 
any news that will interest me. He will under¬ 
stand what I mean. Give heed to yourself on 
the way and count out the money in his pres¬ 
ence. ’Tis a large sum to trust to a boy.” 

“I will be careful, sir.” 


CHAPTER III 


The next morning John set forth on his ten- 
mile ride to Portsmouth, bearing the twenty- 
two pounds, ten shillings in a leathern bag that 
bulged his breeches pocket. An unbroken web 
of thick gray cloud veiled the sky; in the air 
was a biting chill, and the mud under his 
horse’s hoofs caked with frost. Still, the boy 
was reasonably happy, for he was at the robust 
age when suffering from cold and hardship 
counts as nothing compared with the joy of 
conquering them, and he was eager to prove 
that his father’s confidence in him was not 
misplaced. Besides, his curiosity had been 
whetted to a keen edge by the news he had re¬ 
ceived in Exeter, and he wasn’t averse to learn¬ 
ing for himself the truth about Paul Revere’s 
message. As he came down to the ferry land¬ 
ing at Durham Point he glanced with experi¬ 
enced eye out upon the surface of the bay, and 
noticed that the big eddies were swirling down¬ 
ward; the tide had been ebbing for an hour. 

44 


THE KING’S POWDER 


45 


Old Murphy, a querulous veteran from an Irish 
regiment who had been wounded at Louisburg, 
and now combined management of the ferry 
with shoemaking in his little box alongside, kept 
the rider waiting some seconds, being too much 
occupied with hammering and thinking to hear 
the horse’s hoofs on the planks. Aroused by 
the jingle of the bell, he came stumping forth 
with a big mouthful of words. 

‘ ‘ The first time that bell has had to ring since 
the peep o’ day,” he said. “I was that excited 
by the news I forgot to look out o’ my windy. 
It’s a great chance youTl be havin’ the day! If 
I was as young as you be, and had me leg, I’d 
have tied up the boat and cut for the town.” 

“What’s up, Mike,” asked John, eagerly. 
“A muster?” 

“A muster!” echoed Mike. “Howly saints! 
Don’t they know anything at all in that little 
oyster-sucking village o’ yours—and red¬ 
headed Major Sullivan there, too! Sure, I 
thought ye was cornin’ to jine the lads. They 
be goin’ against the fort, me b’y,—gundalows 
and whale-boats and the milish’ marchin’ in 
from Exeter and Hampton and Rye and ivery- 
where but Durham to keep the governor quiet. 


46 


THE KING’S POWDER 


Gage is sendin’ redcoats from Boston, and two 
sloops of ’em be a-beatin’ up along the coast. 
It’s now or niver, they say, and sivin men in the 
fort waitin’ with muskets primed on their knees 
to shoot the heads off the first men that’ll be 
jumpin’ over the wall. Cochrane is a fire¬ 
water, but he’ll not be holdin’ the ramshackle 
place against a hundred min, I’m thinkin’.” 

“When are they going?” 

“On this tide, itself,” Mike answered, with 
a sweep of his hand toward the bridge. 
“Those very wathers will be a-carryin’ thim 
down. ’ ’ 

Scarcely was John free from the boat when 
he struck his heels into his horse’s flanks, and 
urged him on toward the town. For five miles 
there was no walking or choosing ground for 
the bay horse. Trembling with eagerness to be 
on the scene at the earliest possible moment, 
yet not clear in mind whether as spectator or 
actor, the rider hurried his slow-paced steed 
forward. 

On the outskirts of the town a man over¬ 
hauled him from behind and galloped past. 
Farther on, where the houses began to thicken, 
he passed women with shawls over their heads 


THE KING’S POWDER 


47 


talking excitedly at gates. At an open door, a 
mother was kissing her son good-by—and the 
young man carried a musket! As he trotted 
down King Street, he beheld a hundred yards 
away a crowd of men collected before the Bell 
Tavern, armed men! Hot with desire to be in 
the thick of it, to see, if nothing more, he yet 
remembered that the performance of his fa¬ 
ther’s errand was his first duty. Turning into 
Court street he drew rein before Colonel Atkin¬ 
son’s stately house. 

A negro man-servant opened the door in an¬ 
swer to the crash of the knocker. 

“I wish to see Colonel Atkinson on a matter 
of business.” 

“His Excellency is engaged, sir,” said the 
negro, pompously. 

“Tell him Mr. Spencer’s son has come to pay 
him certain moneys due on the fifteenth. ’ ’ The 
negro hesitated. “All I want is his receipt,” 
insisted John. “I shall detain him but a mo¬ 
ment.” 

It was not his master’s habit to refuse money 
whenever offered. The negro admitted the 
caller to the hall, and left him standing at the 
foot of the great staircase while he passed far- 


48 


THE KING’S POWDER 


ther down to knock discreetly at a door in the 
rear. As the door opened, sounds of excited 
voices fell on the keen ears of the listener in the 
hall. 

“They paid no heed to the chief justice,” 
some one declaimed within. “If the ships were 
only here this rabble would not dare show them¬ 
selves on the wharves/’ 

Then the door closed behind a small, alert old 
man of seventy-odd years, in ruffled shirt and 
black silk small-clothes, who came briskly down 
the hall. As he drew near, John could detect a 
faint red spot breaking the sallow of his faded 
cheek. 

“You are the son of Mr. Gideon Spencer of 
Durham?” the Secretary asked as he ap¬ 
proached the visitor. 

“Yes, sir. I have come to pay the twenty- 
two pounds, ten shillings due to-morrow/ ’ 

John emptied the contents of his bag on the 
top of a lowboy. With the quick, practised 
movement of a man used to counting coin, Colo¬ 
nel Atkinson swept the guineas and crowns one 
at a time from the polished mahogany surface 
into his hand. 

4 4 Correct! ’ ’ he said. 4 4 You wish a receipt ? * 9 



THE KING'S POWDER 


49 


“Yes, sir, if you please.’’ 

The little man retired to the room of voices, 
reappearing after an interval with the receipt 
freshly sanded. 

“There it is!” he said as he put it into 
John’s hand. “Convey my best respects to 
your father. He is a true man, and true men 
are rare in these days of madness. I trust you 
will grow to be another such as he.” 

John bowed. 

“I would ask you to remain and dine with 
me, but the council is called to sit with the gov¬ 
ernor, and I cannot count upon my freedom. 
On some other occasion I shall hope for the 
pleasure of your company at my table. There 
is a riot on foot to-day which will cost the par¬ 
ticipants dear. I cannot advise you too 
strongly to avoid the streets where the disor¬ 
derly are gathering, and return home as soon as 
possible.” 

Whereupon the Secretary bowed with formal 
courtesy and signed to the negro to show the 
visitor out. “A fine old gentleman,” thought 
John as he flung himself on his horse, “but I 
am not going home just yet. I must first have 
a look at these disorderly persons.” 


50 


THE KING’S POWDER 


He rode past the fringe of the waiting crowd 
into the stable yard of the Bell. If these were 
the men whom the Secretary called disorderly, 
he must have used the word in a special sense. 
No signs of uncontrolled excitement were vis¬ 
ible in their looks, they uttered no wild threats. 
The men stood, weapon in hand, quietly wait¬ 
ing ; their voices were subdued, their faces 
serious. As John passed the end of the house 
on his way to the stables he caught a fleeting 
glimpse from the corner of his eye of a short, 
vigorous man standing in the doorway, and 
presently heard the command: “Fall in!” 
By the time he had succeeded in hunting back 
an hostler from the front gate, the band of men 
was already well advanced down the street; 
when he returned from the stables after satis¬ 
fying himself that the hay would he properly 
rubbed down and fed, they had disappeared. 

John sped away on a run in the direction the 
men had taken. As he ran down the wharf he 
saw that a large gondola with the bulk of the 
party aboard had just put off and was already 
in the grip of the stream. Two or three well- 
loaded boats had also cast off their lines; an¬ 
other still clung to the wharf. John, peeping 


THE KING’S POWDER 


51 


over the edge, perceived that there was yet 
room in the boat below. Without hesitating an 
instant, he threw himself down upon the wharf, 
gripped the edge with his hands, and dropped 
neatly upon a thwart. 

“Where’s your weapon?” demanded a rough 
voice from the stern-seat. 

‘ ‘ I haven’t any. ’ ’ 

The man frowned and glanced up at the top 
of the wharf where a row of curious heads ap¬ 
peared, but no sign of a gun. 

“Let me go!” pleaded the boy. “I can row 
and take care of the boat and help if any one is 
hurt. I know the fort well.” 

“Then take the bow oar on the port side,” 
said the leader. “Cast off, Dave! They’re 
getting too big a start on us.” 

“Who is he?” asked John of his seat-mate, 
a grizzled sailorman, as he swung into the short 
choppy stroke. 

“Nick Pevear, sailmaker,” growled the 
other. “Keep your mouth shut and pull!” 

John obeyed. W T hile he tugged at his oar he 
had time to think, but it did not occur to him to 
ask himself why he had come, much less to re¬ 
gret the hasty step. He felt a thrill of tri- 


52 


THE KING’S POWDER 


umph in gaining his point, in being admitted to 
partnership in the enterprise. How disgusted 
Zeb would be to learn that his friend from Dur¬ 
ham had got in ahead of him! Soon he fell to 
wondering how the approach would be made, 
how the deep gondola could deliver its men on 
a shelving shore. The picture of the fort with 
its dilapidated ramparts, its rough edging of 
slippery rocks along the harbor side, stood out 
clear before his eyes. The east side, being a 
little apart from the current, would be the best 
place to land now that the tide was past the pe¬ 
riod of its greatest violence. He was curious 
to learn what course the leaders would adopt. 

The boat came abreast of the gondola. The 
lateen sail set full with the wind; men were 
working at the sweeps. 

“In the boat there!” called Colonel Langdon 
from the scow. 

“Ay, ay, sir!” returned Pevear. 

“Keep with us till we get near the fort, then 
push on and land below on the east side. Don’t 
rush till you hear our bugle, then scatter and 
climb in where you can. No bloodshed if it can 
be helped. You understand ? ’’ 

“Ay, ay, sir!” 


THE KING'S POWDER 


53 


The boat glided onward with the tide. Pres¬ 
ently by turning his face to the left, John could 
see the fishermen’s cottages that straggled 
along the north shore of Newcastle. By twist¬ 
ing on his seat and peeping over his shoulder 
he might even bring the fort itself within his 
line of vision, and satisfy his curiosity as to the 
distribution of sentinels and the pointing of 
cannon. The temptation was strong, but John 
resisted it, fearing the reproaches of his mates. 
There were men moving in the lanes behind 
the houses and more men filling the boats at the 
landing. Two of these put out to join the 
Portsmouth flotilla as it drew near, while a 
third was detained only by an altercation with 
a last candidate for membership in the crew, 
who had arrived at a run just as the party was 
getting away. John could not hear the dia¬ 
logue, but the boatswain’s gestures made it 
clear that the newcomer was not desired. De¬ 
sired or not, he gained his point by the simple 
expedient of a long jump over a stretch of open 
water into the midst of the objecting crew. 

“Can it be old Zeb?” John demanded of him¬ 
self as he swung to and fro over his oar. “It 
looks like him and that’s just the kind of thing 


54 


THE KING’S POWDER 


he’d do, but could be possibly get wind of the 
plan early enough to come?” 

He moved on his seat so as to win a chance 
view of the boat following, but it was impossi¬ 
ble to distinguish Zeb,—if it were indeed he— 
in the confusion of swaying bodies. From 
this moving and guessing, Pevear’s com¬ 
mand “ ’Vast rowing!” brought his attention 
promptly back to the matter in hand. The boat 
lay abreast the fort. Two sentinels armed with 
bayonetted flintlocks were parading on the ram¬ 
part, now staring at the approaching armada, 
now shouting backwards to their comrades 
within. A red-faced man in a cocked hat 
mounted the wall, and brandishing his sword 
looked fiercely out at the swarm of the enemy. 

The boats drew together. “We’re ordered 
to land below on the east side,” called Pevear. 
“ You’d better come along with us. Don’t start 
till you hear the bugle and then rush. Don’t 
fire unless you have to; them’s Langdon’s or¬ 
ders.” 

Yes, there was Zeb! He turned his big 
round face toward the speaker and swept 
John’s boat with incurious eyes. As he caught 
the eager expression on his friend’s face, he 



THE KING’S POWDER 


55 

stared, then grinned stolidly and waved his 
hand. John, aglow with excitement at the un¬ 
expected meeting, waved vigorously back, but 
Zeb was already engaged in talk with the man 
near him. 

“You can’t surprise that fellow,” thought 
John with a feeling of pique. “He wouldn’t 
change a hair if we met in China. ’ ’ 

The gondola had swung in close to the land 
and dropped anchor. The red-faced man 
shouted to it a warning of some kind which was 
inaudible to John and his companions who were 
just rounding the point. The boats scattered 
along the harbor side of the fort, Pevear’s in 
the lead. As the bow bumped on the smooth 
wet stones, a cannon roared from the other side 
of the fort. While the sentinel on the east wall 
peered landward to see what was happening, 
Pevear’s crew tumbled on shore. The sentinel 
turned, and seeing the men scattering for shel¬ 
ter, fired his musket. John could hear the ball 
whistle overhead. 

“You boy, stay here and mind the boat!” 
commanded Pevear. “Get behind a rock.” 

But the boy was not content to play the 
distant spectator at the water’s edge. No 


56 


THE KING’S POWDER 


sooner was he alone, than he hunted out a stout 
piece of driftwood, passed it through the loop 
at the end of the boat’s painter, wedged the 
stick in a crevice of the rocks and stole away 
along the shore. He knew a spot around the 
corner where a big boulder lay close to the wall 
of the fort. From that boulder it was not hard 
to gain the wall. He had done it once with 
Zeb when they had gone on an exploring ven¬ 
ture down the harbor, and waited here for the 
turn of the tide. 

As he neared this vantage point, he discov¬ 
ered another figure creeping in the same direc¬ 
tion. 

“You didn’t forget, either,” whispered John 
as Zeb joined him. 

Zeb shook his head. “Who goes up first?” 

“I do, I was the first to get here.” 

“We’ll toss for it,” declared Zeb, drawing a 
penny from his pocket. 

Luck ran in favor of the bigger man. “I’ll 
pull you up as soon as I get there,” said Zeb. 

“I guess you ought to go first, you’ve got a 
gun. ” 

“It’s no use. I can’t fuss with the priming, 


THE KING’S POWDER 


57 


and I wouldn’t fire on those men, anyway. 
Twenty to one ain’t fair odds.” 

“How’d you get here?” 

“Walked—and ran,” Zeb answered. 

Just then the bugle sounded, answered by 
yells from every side of the fort. A musket 
cracked close at hand. 

“Up you go!” cried John. “I’ll hand you 
your fowling-piece.” 

Zeb mounted the boulder, flung himself at 
the wall and scrambled up. A moment later 
his companion, clutching the gunstock, was 
lifted to a place beside him. They were the 
first in the enclosure. Twenty yards away 
stood the sentry, shouting down at those be¬ 
low the wall, threatening to bayonet the first 
man who came within reach. The pair crept 
toward him. He did not see them till they were 
close upon him, when he turned with a start, 
and advanced his bayonet. 

“Keep behind me,” whispered Zeb, “and get 
under him when I strike up his gun. ’ ’ 

At close quarters the man made a lunge. 
Stepping back, Zeb caught his gun-barrel under 
the bayonet and lifted. At the same time John 


58 


THE KING’S POWDEB 


dove for the soldier’s legs. The man went 
down instantly, throwing away his weapon as 
he fell. 

“I surrender!” he murmured, without mak¬ 
ing an effort to rise. “I was only doin’ my 
duty.” Whereupon he shut his eyes and lay 
quite still, evidently relieved to have it safely 
over. 

The boys, leaving him, hurried on to the next 
sentinel, whom they caught vainly thrusting at 
a man below who was holding his attention 
while the other assailants struggled for posi¬ 
tions on the wall. Zeb made short work of 
soldier number two who, even as he was jabbing 
downwards, found himself pinioned in strong 
arms, and was powerless to resist when John 
twisted the musket from his hands. Disarmed, 
number two yielded himself with commend¬ 
able readiness. 

By this time, men were swarming over the 
fortifications at a score of points. The three 
remaining soldiers were quickly seized. Cap¬ 
tain Cochrane, well fortified with Dutch cour¬ 
age, as his swollen red face and violent lan¬ 
guage made evident, swung his sword and 
vowed he would fight to the last gasp; but when 



THE KING’S POWDER 


59 


Colonel Langdon walked calmly forward and 
asked that he surrender to save bloodshed, the 
captain’s bravado wilted. With hanging jaw 
and blinking eyes he surrendered the hilt of 
his sword. 

Colonel Langdon received the sword with a 
bow and returned it immediately. 

“Keep it, sir,” he said. “We are not here 
to make war on the King’s soldiers, but to se¬ 
cure the property of the colony. Kindly hand 
over to me the key of the magazine!” 

Whether the mention of the magazine revived 
his determination to make desperate resistance, 
or the liquor with which he had strengthened 
himself for the crisis gave him a drunken in¬ 
spiration—Cochrane’s face suddenly set in a 
grimace of rage. “Never!” he shouted, and 
clenching tight the hilt of his sword, he swung 
it high over his head, at the same time lifting 
, himself on his toes to give the coming stroke 
full force. 

It happened that our friends, boylike, had 
crowded into the front rank of the circle of men 
which had formed about the captain. John 
was standing within a yard of Cochrane’s right 
shoulder. As quick in his impulse as a girl, 


60 


THE KING’S POWDER 


and with muscles like lively springs, as the 
sword-arm paused for a fraction of a second in 
the air, John leaped forward, caught the up¬ 
raised arm in both his hands and pulled it back. 
Cochrane, emitting a howl of pain, lurched half 
round and fell heavily backward. 

“Search him!” commanded Langdon coolly. 

And while eager hands fumbled the person 
of the prostrate captain—who squirmed and 
rolled and bellowed “Treason!” in a most loyal 
fashion—Langdon turned to John. 

“What’s your name?” 

“John Spencer.” -- >V 

“Where do you live?” 

“In Durham, sir.” 

“Son of Gideon Spencer?” Langdon asked 
with a twinkle in his eye. 

“Yes, sir.” 

The search proved fruitless; Cochrane jeered 
as he was led away under guard, this time with¬ 
out the courtesy of sword. Langdon gave or¬ 
ders to find tools and break in the door. But 
tools, too, were missing; in the tool-house was 
discovered nothing of iron save a scattering of 
nails and a handful of balls. The determined 
old soldier had stripped his fortress of every 


THE KING’S POWDER 


61 


implement that could be of help to the invaders. 

“The axes and saws from the gundalow!” 
commanded Langdon. “ Bring everything that 
can possibly be used. Lively, now! We have 
no time to lose.” 

While men hurried to the boats in obedience 
to the captain’s orders, John and Zeb strolled 
over to the rampart where their first captive 
leaned against a cannon looking stolidly down 
upon the scene. 

“Look here!” said Zeb. “We saved your 
life when you tried to bayonet us. Now give us 
a hint as to where you hid the tools.” 

The man shook his head and pressed his lips 
tight together. 

“We’ll get in, anyway,” continued Zeb. “It 
won’t make any difference in the end.” 

The soldier persisted in his silence. John, 
who was watching his face closely, noticed that 
his glance rested briefly on a point near the 
door of the fort kitchen, where the winter’s 
store of wood was piled. In front of the regu¬ 
lar tiers rose a haphazard heap. The heap 
struck the boy at once as suspicious, for it was 
composed of sawed wood and sticks of full cord 
length thrown together. 


62 


THE KING’S POWDER 


“Come on, Zeb!” he cried. “I have a guess 
about the hiding-place. ,, 

They dashed across to the heap of wood and 
began to toss the sticks aside. The bystanders, 
incredulous but eager to do something to break 
the strain of waiting, crowded in to help until 
the shower of flying missiles seemed likely to 
prove more dangerous than the muskets of the 
garrison. Presently Zeb laid hold of four 
inches of round smooth hickory that showed at 
the bottom of the heap and jerked out a sledge 
hammer. 

“Keep it up, you men!’’ he shouted as he 
sprang triumphantly away. “You’ll find 
everything there. I’ve got what I want.” 


CHAPTER IV 


The boom of Zeb’s tremendous blows on the 
door of the magazine gave the first notice to 
Langdon that tools had been found. He saw at 
once that the right man was at the handle end 
of the hammer. Every stroke was placed, 
every blow fell with the force of a ram. The 
wood splintered around the lock; the bolt bent 
inward. Finally with a grunt of warning to 
the men pushing in behind, Zeb swung his 
sledge-hammer far back over his shoulder and 
brought it squarely down beside the keyhole. 
The hammer sank down to the helve in the 
wood. When he pulled at the handle, the door 
came open with it. Zeb stood aside, breathing 
hard, while Langdon and Captain Pickering in¬ 
spected the interior of the magazine. When 
they returned, Zeb and his sledge had both dis¬ 
appeared. 

Two men were appointed to roll the barrels 
to the door of the magazine. Captain Picker¬ 
ing took charge of the transportation to the 

63 


64 


THE KING’S POWDER 


gondola. Colonel Langdon stood at the door 
and selected the strongest men as carriers as 
they passed before him in line. John, to his 
delight, was given the task of checking off the 
barrels as they left the magazine. Zeb ap¬ 
peared in his turn as the queue passed before 
the commander, shouldered his barrel without 
help, and walked off to the boat. Colonel 
Langdon looked after him with a smile. 

“Who is he!” he asked. 

“That’s my friend, Zeb Giddinge of Exeter, 
sir,” answered John, proudly. “He’s as good 
as he is strong.” 

One hundred and two barrels of powder, and 
all conveyed in safety to the scow! To the men 
of the colony—living in fear, not of the British 
regulars gathering in front, nor of the savages 
skulking in the forest behind, but of the pros¬ 
pect of facing both without the means of de¬ 
fense—the tarpaulin-covered heap on the deck 
meant a treasure inestimable. They wanted 
the muskets stacked in the corners of the vault, 
and the cannon on the ramparts. But the gon¬ 
dola was loaded, the tide an hour past low, 
and the precious spoil must be carried to a 
place of security. 


THE KING'S POWDER 


65 


“We must leave the rest for another trip,” 
announced the leader. “Give the soldiers 
back their muskets !” He walked across the 
enclosure to where Captain Cochrane stood un¬ 
der guard. “Release him!” he commanded. 
“He can do no more harm now.” 

“But 1 can!” burst out the outraged officer. 
‘ ‘ I can hang the whole lot of you, and you ’ll be 
the first, John Langdon! This is rebellion, 
high treason against the King! The chief jus¬ 
tice warned ye of what ye have to expect. 
Ye’ll all pay the penalty on the gallows!” 

Langdon smiled. “It will be a good deal of 
a task to hang us all, Captain. You forget that 
we are not in England. The British Parlia¬ 
ment may sell themselves to a corrupt ministry, 
but the people of this colony can neither be 
bought nor sold.” 

“You’ll see when the regiments come!” 
shouted Cochrane. “Then these bold pirates 
will shrink into their holes. New Hampshire 
will not support treason, sir.” 

“If the regiments are coming, it is all the 
more necessary that these stores should be in 
the hands of the friends of the colony,” said 
Langdon, calmly. “I am afraid that you will 


66 


THE KING’S POWDER 


not have the pleasure of seeing me hanged.’’ 

While the boats were passing to and from the 
gondola, ferrying the crew in relays, John 
fell back for a little talk with Zeb. But few 
words had passed between them when Colonel 
Langdon beckoned John to him. 

“When do you go back to Durham?” he 
asked. 

“As soon as I can get a bite to eat and sad¬ 
dle my horse,” answered John. 

“Good! When you reach home, go at once 
to Parson Adams and Major Sullivan. Say to 
them that we are bringing the powder up to 
Durham on this tide, and that I rely on them 
to make arrangements to store it safely when 
the gundalow arrives. Tell no one else, ex¬ 
cept these two gentlemen. When is it high 
water at the falls to-night?” 

“About ten o’clock, sir,” answered John 
promptly. 

Langdon considered: “If I could get word 
to Exeter as easily, I’d ask the Gilmans or 
Colonel Folsom to send a hay-wagon to Dur¬ 
ham to take back a load to-night. This powder 
must be got away from the sea-coast without 
delay. ’ ’ 


THE KING’S POWDER 


67 


“There’s Zeb Giddinge, sir, the man with 
the hammer,” proposed John, nodding his 
head in the direction of his friend. “He 
walked all the way here from Exeter, just to 
have a share in the sport. He’ll carry a mes¬ 
sage for you, but it will take him some time to 
walk home.” 

“He shall have a good horse to carry him,” 
declared the Colonel. “Call him!” 

A few minutes later, Zeb and John leaped 
into a Portsmouth boat. This time they were 
not intruders, but passengers, commended by 
high authority to the special care of the cap¬ 
tain. They sat squeezed together in the bow, 
while the crew fell promptly into their short 
choppy stroke, and the boat, cutting in front 
of the scow, put itself into the grip of the cur¬ 
rent. As they swept rapidly up the harbor 
on the tide, the two young men yielded them¬ 
selves for a time to the silence that prevailed 
among their companions. Now that the crisis 
of the game was past, the act of offense ac¬ 
tually committed, they felt awed by its immense 
significance. Two hundred men had openly 
and irretrievably taken arms against an officer 
of the King. Either the colony would support 


68 


THE KING’S POWDER 


them and all would be hurried into rebellion, or 
they had vainly chosen for themselves the por¬ 
tion of traitors. In either case, the event was 
fraught with the gravest consequences. 

“What will your father say?” asked Zeb at 
length, as he leaned farther back into the bow 
and stamped his foot vigorously to start the 
blood coursing under his freezing stockings. 

“I don’t know,” answered John with a seri¬ 
ous shake of his head. “I had to commit my¬ 
self sometime, and now I’ve done it. There 
will be no use in arguing now, will there? I 
can’t undo what I’ve done.” 

“Do you wish to?” asked Zeb quickly. 
“Are you sorry you came?” 

“No, I’m not, but if the province disowns 
us I don’t exactly see where we’ll be. We’ll 
have to take to the woods.” 

“If they disown us, I’d as lief take to the 
woods,” said Zeb. “I wish I’d brought some¬ 
thing to eat, I’m as hollow as an empty 
cask.” 

He leaned forward to poke the oarsman near¬ 
est him. “Here! Change places with me, 
won’t you?” he said. “I’ve got to do some¬ 
thing to get the blood into my feet.” 


THE KING'S POWDER 


69 


The wharf was full of people curious to hear 
the news. No sooner had they set foot upon 
the planking than the boys were surrounded 
by an insistent crowd of questioners. 

“No one was hurt,” explained John, hur¬ 
riedly. “The men in the boat will tell you all 
about it. Let us through, please.” 

But the press only thickened. “Was there 
a fight? Did they get the powder? Where is 
it going? What did they do to Cochrane?” 
The questions rained down upon them from all 
sides. John stared about in perplexity. If 
he waited to satisfy the curiosity of all these 
people, he would never get started on his 
journey homeward. If he didn’t answer, he 
couldn’t get out of the crowd. While he hesi¬ 
tated, Zeb pushed in front of him. 

“Out of the way, there!” he shouted, and 
with an outward sweep of his arms, he forced 
two heads aside, and made a gap for himself. 

“After me, John!” he called. Pushing for¬ 
ward he swam his way with powerful strokes 
through the pack. 

“Good for you, Zeb!” exclaimed John, with 
fervor, as they reached the open. “I’ll feed 
you well for that.” 


70 


THE KING’S POWDER 


“It’ll cost you something,’’ said Zeb. “Pm 
hollow to the feet.” 

But it cost nothing, after all. The patriotic 
landlord of the Bell furnished them bread and 
meat in plenty and took his pay in answers 
to his questions—that is, such of his questions 
as they were ready to answer, for the desti¬ 
nation of the powder was, of course, a secret. 

While his horse was being saddled, John 
went with Zeb to Colonel Langdon’s and helped 
him choose his mount, a big bay mare that had 
not left the stable for two days. 

“Keep a tight rein on her,” warned the 
hostler, as he stood by the horse’s head while 
Zeb swung himself up into the saddle. “She 
won’t need no urgin’.” 

“I’ll see you again, John!” called Zeb 
gayly from his seat. “Let her go, hostler!” 
The mare struck out true to the groom’s pre¬ 
diction, slewed round the gate-post with a sud¬ 
denness that half unseated her rider and dis¬ 
appeared at a gallop up the road. 

John’s own nag showed no such spirit, 
though headed for the comforts of the home 
stable. He stood very patiently when Mike, at 
the ferry landing, demanded news of the great 


THE KING’S POWDER 


71 


enterprise and lamented in many exclamations 
the hardship of the fate which had kept him 
out of it. On reaching a certain viewpoint 
above the shore, John halted his horse for a 
moment to look down the stretch of Little Bay 
toward Dover Point. As he looked, a black 
speck topped by a white patch swam into sight 
around the bunch of farm buildings on the New¬ 
ington side,—the gondola with its precious 
cargo! 

“They’ve lost no time,” said John to him¬ 
self. “They’re working the sweeps, too. If 
they don’t catch on the flats, they’ll be up by 
ten o’clock.” 

He had much to think of, during the next 
four miles,—what he should say or not say to 
his father; what his position would be when 
his part in the affair became known; what Zeb 
meant by seeing him again soon; how all those 
barrels could be hidden; what steps the gov¬ 
ernor would take to regain the lost stores, and 
how the rebels would be treated. It surprised 
him that he felt no undertow of regret, no 
insidious wish that he had resisted the im¬ 
pulse which had carried him headlong. The 
one consideration in the whole serious business 


72 


THE KING’S POWDER 


that made for gayety was that through his 
chance adventure he had gained a weapon 
against Priscilla Adams. That fiercely patri¬ 
otic maiden must reconsider her attitude 
toward him, and when she did so she might 
find that two could play at the game of casting 
contemptuous glances! She was quite too 
clever not to appreciate the difference between 
the man who airs his patriotism in talk but 
does nothing, and the vastly superior person 
who lets others do the talking and saves him¬ 
self for the effective act. As John drew 
nearer home, this mental foretasting of the 
joys of triumph over the conscience-smitten 
Priscilla had a tendency to repeat itself, as the 
hand strays self-directed to the pocket where 
sweetmeats lie. And as reason sometimes 
checks the straying hand, so John was occa¬ 
sionally brought up short in his imaginings by 
the reflection that Priscilla was not so easily 
conscience-smitten as some and much keener- 
witted than most. It might be that she would 
guess at once that boyish impulse had played 
a part in his defiance of authority. 

He was relieved to find, when he led his 
horse into the home stable at dusk, that his 


THE KING’S POWDER 


73 


father had not yet returned. He thus escaped 
annoying questions as to the reason for his 
long absence and won time to deliver Colonel 
Langdon’s messages. Major Sullivan’s house 
lying beyond the bridge, John naturally turned 
in first at the parsonage gate. As he hoped, 
Priscilla herself answered the loud slap of the 
brass knocker. She looked very grown-up and 
business-like in her blue woolen frock with 
white kerchief and apron; and the frown with 
which she recognized him detracted neither 
from the charm of her face nor the satisfac¬ 
tion of the young man in the triumph which he 
anticipated. 

“I wish to speak with your father,” said 
John, with the solemnity of a king’s councillor. 

The girl hesitated, and John stepped boldly 
in. 

“My father is busy writing in his study,” 
said Priscilla, with her hand still on the latch 
of the door. “I don’t think he would like to be 
disturbed.” 

“I think he would,” the young man replied 
deliberately. “My business is important.” 

Priscilla gave her head a toss. “If you will 
tell me your business, I will inquire if he will 
see you.” 


74 


THE KING’S POWDER 


“My business is with him, and no other,” 
John said stiffly, “and as it is secret and re¬ 
quires immediate attention, I can assure you 
he will not be pleased to have it kept waiting.” 

This time the girl did not reply. She gave 
him a startled glance and dropped her eyes. 
A deep flush overspread her face. She turned 
hastily as if to hide it, and walking quickly 
down the hall, opened the door of the minis¬ 
ter’s study. 

“Father, John Spencer wishes to see you,” 
she said; and then throwing at the caller an¬ 
other look which, as it flashed upon him, 
seemed to offer both apology and defiance, she 
slipped away. 

John delivered his message behind the closed 
doors of the study. Parson Adams, who was 
a man of action as well as deep conviction, 
wasted no time in useless questions. 

“A truly patriotic deed, and necessary, but 
highly momentous,” he said, rising to put on 
his long full cloak and take his hat from the 
peg in the corner. ‘ ‘ Come, young man, we will 
lay the matter before Major Sullivan. There 
is no time to be lost.” 


THE KING’S POWDER 


75 


In the parlor of Major Sullivan’s house be¬ 
side the river, John told his story a second 
time. The Major lacked the calmness of the 
parson. His face grew tense and eager as he 
listened. Before John had finished the fiery pa¬ 
triot was on his feet, walking with rapid steps 
before the fireplace, his eyes flashing, his head 
thrown back like one who challenges to bat¬ 
tle. 

“So Langdon hands on his precious cargo 
to us, does he!” he declaimed, passionately. 
“He does well. We are men who can be 
trusted with this or any other responsibility 
in defense of the rights we inherited free from 
our fathers. It was a bold stroke and in the 
nick of time. New Hampshire has spoken! 
This one act is worth a shipload of petitions 
and remonstrances. It gives the lie direct to 
the false messages of the cringers; they will 
have it that we are spiritless cattle, whom no 
extreme of tyranny can drive to measures of 
self-defense—but now the ministry will know 
better. And if Gage sends his regulars, he 
will find we can use the powder as well as seize 
it.” 



76 


THE KING’S POWDER 


“But where shall it be stored?” asked the 
minister. “The gundalow will be up by ten 
o ’clock. ’ ’ 

“Under the hay in my barn,” answered 
Sullivan promptly. 

The parson looked doubtful. “Is that the 
wisest disposition we can make of it? If the 
soldiers come, they will search your buildings 
first of all.” 

“True!” answered Sullivan. “They know 
me in Portsmouth. Well, Ebenezer Thompson 
has a double cellar. Some of it can be hidden 
there and covered with potatoes. Some of it 
can be sent to honest John DeMerritt in Mad- 
bury, and Exeter will take care of a wagon¬ 
load. We ought to keep a good number of 
barrels right here to supply Portsmouth and 
Dover if the militia are called out. If not in 
my barn, Mr. Adams, why not in yours?” 

“I dislike the idea of storing it in a hay¬ 
loft,” said the minister. “There is the danger 
of spontaneous combustion, and the barn might 
be struck by lightning.” 

“Not in the winter,” returned Sullivan. 
“The main thing is to keep it safe and dry. 
If not in somebody’s barn, where?” 


THE KING’S POWDER 


77 


i i Under the pulpit in the meeting-house, 
sir!” put in John with sudden inspiration. 
“There’s a trap-door in the platform floor be¬ 
side the pulpit that lets you down underneath. 
The space isn’t used for anything, and would 
hold all the barrels you would want to store. 
If you think the place isn’t secret enough, you 
could take up a few boards in the under floor 
and lower the barrels through to the ground, 
where the cellar would be, if there were any 
cellar. ’ ’ 

As John spoke, Sullivan, who had paused in 
his agitated walk, stood with eyes fixed on the 
boy’s face. He kept them there for the space 
of five seconds, while he considered the novel 
proposition, then shifting his look to the min¬ 
ister, he let out a merry chuckle. 

“Do you think you could sing ‘How firm a 
foundation’ with forty barrels of gunpowder 
under your feet, eh, Mr. Adams?” he de¬ 
manded. “I’m afeared you’d feel tempted to 
skimp your sermons.” 

“I would rather it were four hundred than 
forty,” protested the minister. “Was not 
Zion the citadel of the Lord? The boy is 
right. The meeting-house is easily accessible, 


78 


THE KING’S POWDER 


no fire is ever lighted in it, and no one would 
suspect us of using it for such a purpose.” 

And now, when the minister and the squire 
fell to considering the men to be invited to 
assist and the teams to be requisitioned, John, 
feeling that he had no further excuse for re¬ 
maining, rose to take his departure. 

“Good-by, boy,” said Sullivan, holding out 
his hand. “Come around at ten and show us 
your hiding-place. You are a lucky dog to 
have had a hand in this enterprise. Say 
nothing about what has happened or what you 
have done.” 

John bowed his acknowledgment, blushing 
with pleasure. 

“I’m glad there was one Durham man in the 
attack at the fort, and I’m also glad for your 
father’s sake that you are that one,” Sullivan 
added. 

“For my father’s sake,” repeated the boy. 
‘ 1 Why 1 ’ ’ 

“Because he is in danger of being roughly 
handled by some of our over-zealous patriots, ’ ’ 
answered Sullivan, with blunt frankness. 
“They are talking of him now as an enemy of 
our liberties, and from violent words to rash 


THE KING’S POWDER 


79 


deeds is but a short step. Your action may 
avert unpleasantness.” 

John carried away with him serious 
thoughts. He knew that in other towns out¬ 
spoken Tories had been threatened or forced 
to sign declarations of loyalty to the colonial 
cause, but he had not imagined that a man 
like his father, upright, honorable in his deal¬ 
ings, reserved of speech, could become an ob¬ 
ject of hostility to the mob merely because he 
had not changed his political opinions to suit 
theirs. Yet Major Sullivan knew the popular 
mind, and if he scented danger, the danger 
must exist. What was to be done? If John as¬ 
serted himself boldly and his father in anger 
should cast him out, the evil that threatened 
would be precipitated. On the other hand, to 
conceal what he had done seemed the part of 
a coward. He had meant to clear his con¬ 
science of the whole matter that very night. 
If Major Sullivan was right, a quarrel with his 
father must now be avoided for his father’s 
sake. John knew not what course to take. 

Supper passed in the usual fashion. The 
children chattered; Mrs. Spencer ministered 
to their needs. Gideon Spencer having satis- 


80 


THE KING’S POWDER 


fied himself that John had attended properly 
to the business with Colonel Atkinson, was si¬ 
lently occupied with his own thoughts. At the 
end of the meal, he lighted the two candles 
which he used at his desk and addressed his 
wife. 

“ There is trouble about the boundary lines 
in my Lee woods, and I must ride to Ports¬ 
mouth to-morrow and consult the records. 
Had I known that I was going, John might 
have been spared his journey.” 

“When do you start?” asked Mrs. Spencer. 

“As soon as it is light. We had better re¬ 
tire early.” 

With this notice of his program for the 
next day, he carried his candles into the back 
room, and closing the door behind him, sat 
down to his accounts. As John watched him 
out of the room and understood that the crisis 
was not yet, he felt as if he had received a re¬ 
prieve that might result in a pardon. In Ports¬ 
mouth his father must surely learn something 
to enlighten him as to the strength of the popu¬ 
lar current which he was opposing. 

The house was quiet and dark soon after 
eight. An hour later, John came down-stairs 


THE KING’S POWDER 


81 


in his thick woolen stockings, stepping carefully 
on the ends of the treads to avoid creaks. In 
the kitchen, where the pile of embers on the 
hearth glowed red in spots and streaks through 
the covering of ashes, he sat down in Martha’s 
big red rush-bottomed chair to finish his prep¬ 
aration for the evening’s work,—pull on the 
heavy top-boots, water-proofed with tallow, 
knot the tippet about his throat, settle the fur 
cap over the tips of his ears, draw on his 
wristers, stow away in his pockets the double¬ 
knit checked mittens. Then he stole clumsily 
down the barn passage and out into the open 
through the stall-room door. 


CHAPTER V 


At the landing he found waiting half a dozen 
men, Major Sullivan and one of his clerks, 
Alexander Scammell, Parson Adams, Deacon 
Thompson, John DeMerritt of Madbury. Sul¬ 
livan was pacing to and fro, engaged in discus¬ 
sion with Thompson when John appeared on 
the wharf. 

16 John Spencerf” called the major, in a low 
tone. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Good! One more pair of hands! You see 
he’s here, Mr. Thompson!” 

“Yes, he’s here, but where’s the gundalow!” 

i 

returned the deacon. 

“On the way up,” said Sullivan. 

“I wish I were as confident as you are,” 

Thompson declared in a discouraged tone. 

“What with the chance of their grounding on 

the flats or not coming at all, I don’t feel any 

too glad to be here. I care not so much for 

myself, though I’m too old a man to be hanging 

82 


THE KING’S POWDER 


83 


round in the cold for two or three hours, but 
my horses are worth something and they’re 
used to a warm stable.” 

“Don’t give up yet,” said Sullivan. “The 
tide’s barely high.” 

The sky above was clear; but below a cer¬ 
tain line in the northeast no stars appeared, 
and the wind was rising. John drew away 
from the others to stand alone on the wharf 
edge and peer out over the obscure stretch of 
waters in search of a light. He could hear the 
ice along the shore snap above the lift of the 
tide. What if the gondola did not come? If 
Colonel Langdon had changed his plans? He 
caught his breath as the possibility occurred to 
him. If the powder did not come, what would 
these watchers think, called to a vain vigil on 
a December night? That he was a liar play¬ 
ing boyish pranks on anxious men? Scammell 
would believe his word, perhaps Sullivan, but 
Thompson certainly not. And he had not even 
a scrap of paper with a penciled message as a 
voucher for his honesty! 

He lingered some time in solitude, leaning 
against the big hawser-post, wondering how 
he should justify himself in the event of failure, 


84 


THE KING’S POWDER 


straining his eyes to discover in the darkness 
what could not be discovered. When he ap¬ 
proached the group again, he heard Thompson’s 
querulous voice. 

“If he weren’t Gideon Spencer’s boy I’d 
feel different. It ain’t natural for a son of his 
to be so forward against the governor’s 
people.” 

6 ‘ The boy is all right, ’ ’ retorted the peppery 
Sullivan. “He’s telling the truth. If nothing 
comes, it won’t be his fault, I’m sure of that. 
If you are solicitous about your horses, pray put 
them in my barn. ’ ’ 

John’s heart jumped; he could feel the hot 
blood flow into his cheeks. He started impul¬ 
sively forward to protest against the suspicion 
which the deacon cherished against him, but be¬ 
fore he opened his lips, Sullivan wheeled on his 
heel toward the highway and demanded sharply, 
“What’s that!” 

John stopped and glanced up the slope. A 
heavy wagon had halted just before the bridge; 
a lantern threw its gleam on two strong horses; 
the sound of subdued voices pierced the chill, 
clear air, and one of the voices belonged to Zeb 
Giddinge. 


THE KING’S POWDER 


85 


“It’s the wagon from Exeter!” John whis¬ 
pered jubilantly. “They’ve come for a load. 
Zeb must have made time to get them here. 
He took a message to Exeter.” And without 
waiting to explain himself John plunged off up 
the slope to meet his friend. When he returned 
with Zeb and the teamster, eager to produce a 
witness to support his word, he found the 
watchers at the edge of the wharf, peering 
through the darkness at a vague spot. 

“It’s the gundalow!” said Sullivan. “Now, 
Deacon, you’ll have to retract.” 

“But why don’t they show a light!” asked 
Thompson, who, never having learned the art 
of retraction, preferred to change the subject. 

“They fear to risk their powder,” said the 
minister. “Heaven be praised, they are here! 
I believed the boy, but I was afraid of some 
mischance on the flats.” 

Lanterns were lighted. The gondola floated 
in and was secured to the wharf. The crew, 
stiff with cold, but overjoyed to feel the respon¬ 
sibility lifted from their shoulders, swarmed 
ashore to warm themselves with hard work. 
The wagons were filled first, and sent away, 
that from Exeter alone being held at the road- 


86 


THE KING’S POWDER 


side. The crew of the gondola were dis¬ 
patched to Squire Sullivan’s kitchen for 
warmth and food. On Zeb and his sturdy com¬ 
panion from Exeter was laid the task of stor¬ 
ing away the twenty-two barrels reserved for 
Durham. The gentlemen lent a hand helping 
to wheel the barrows up the hill to the meeting¬ 
house door. There Zeb and Andy Higgins 
shouldered the casks and passed up the central 
aisle, dimly lighted by protected lanterns, to 
the hole that yawned beneath the pulpit. When 
the booty was stowed away in safety, the hole 
was covered, the porters extinguished the 
candles in the lanterns and stumbled out. 
The meeting-house, recovering from the shock 
of this strange violation of its nightly peace, 
resumed its wonted state of silent dignity. 

The minister, having locked the door and 
laid upon all present the strictest injunction to 
secrecy, went home to bed. John hung over the 
wheel of the Exeter wagon for a last word with 
Zeb. And presently he found himself stand¬ 
ing alone on the bridge, following with his eyes 
the flicker of light carried by the valiant 
blacksmith as he trudged away at his horse’s 
heads. 



Shouldered the casks and passed up the central aisle 

Page 85. 







•• 






9 1 






























































THE KING’S POWDER 


87 


The next morning John had to be called twice 
before he was finally aroused. Gideon Spen¬ 
cer looked up reprovingly from his last sausage 
as his son slid into his seat at the breakfast 
table; but he said nothing except that he hoped 
to be back early in the afternoon, and that word 
was to be sent to Reuben Gunn that he would 
take no share in the new brig unless she were at 
least four hundred tons’ burden, and he ap¬ 
proved the choice of her agent, 

“The West Indies trade is a risky venture, 
isn’t it, with all the pirates about!” asked 
John, quite willing to make conversation on any 
topic but that which was uppermost in his 
thoughts. 

Mr. Spencer considered carefully before re¬ 
plying. “Yes, at present; but conditions will 
be more favorable before the brig is fitted out. 
By that time these trouble-makers will have had 
their lesson, and the men-of-war the Admiralty 
has been sending to this coast will be free to 
protect our trade. This little flurry of bluster 
will blow over in a twelvemonth. Our people 
will grow reasonable when they see clearly 
which side of their bread is spread with but¬ 
ter.” 


88 THE KING’S POWDER 

“And if they don’t care about the butter, 
sir?” 

“They’ll get what they deserve, and lose 
bread and butter both!” After this explosion, 
Spencer Senior fell into a brooding silence 
which he did not break even when he left the 
table to prepare for his journey. 

John, sitting alone, pondered over his 
father’s attitude in public and the attitude of 
the public toward him, in the light of Major 
Sullivan’s warning. Mr. Spencer’s sympathies 
were known. His very reserve would inspire 
suspicion, and the Tory-haters of the taverns 
and street corners, though probably unready 
to enlist for war, were quite patriotic enough to 
join in a mob raid on a pretended spy. The 
son himself, as Deacon Thompson’s suspicions 
showed, might easily be regarded as a tool cun¬ 
ningly used in the Tory cause. 

“It’s a hopeless muddle,” thought the boy, 
helplessly. “I can’t see my way out. I only 
hope he’ll find out in Portsmouth what I’ve 
done. It’ll be something to have the ground 
clear between us at any rate.” 

He was at the office early. He built a fire in 
the fireplace, swept out, and sat himself down 


THE KING’S POWDER 


89 


before Blackstone. Presently Scammell ar¬ 
rived, commented briefly on the successful 
work of the night before, asked questions on his 
reading, and sent him to deliver a deed to a 
farmer who lived a mile out on the Dover road. 
When John returned, he found one of Sullivan’s 
clerks in the office. 

“At eleven o’clock, at Mathes’ wharf, very 
good! ’ ’ Scammell was saying. 4 4 Tell the Major 
I’ll be there.” 

The messenger departed. John sat down 
again before his book, determined to smother 
his straying thoughts in the dust of Black- 
stone. The task was beyond his powers. 
He read a paragraph and reread it, without re¬ 
ceiving the slightest impression of its meaning. 
He stared until his eyes blurred, but no lifeless 
theory of law could gain admittance to a mind 
wholly engrossed by the personal problem of 
to-night and to-morrow. Scammell watched 
him as he glowered at the open page, his 
knuckles pressed tight against his temples. 

4 ‘We’re going down after the cannon,” said 
the lawyer. 

J ohn threw his head back. 4 4 Who ? When ? ’ ’ 
he asked eagerly. 4 4 May I go f ” 


90 


THE KING’S POWDER 


“Certainly, if you want to. But it will be 
cold work and we probably sha’n’t get up until 
to-morrow’s tide.” The lawyer drew out his 
thick silver watch. “You have half an hour 
in which to put on warm clothes, and provide 
yourself with something to eat. We’ll close 
the office.” 

On his way down to the river again John 
came face to face with Priscilla Adams. He 
would have passed her with a cool bow, had she 
not dropped her handkerchief from her little 
gray muff just before they met. Though John 
had sternly resolved never again to regard her 
as a friend he could not, as a gentleman, suf¬ 
fer her to pick up the handkerchief at his very 
feet. Quick of impulse as the young man was, 
he wasted a second or two in deciding to un¬ 
bend, and when he did unbend, Miss Priscilla 
had anticipated him. She snatched up the 
handkerchief when his hand was still a few 
inches from the ground. Both rose together, 
the boy reddening at his clumsiness. 

“Thank you,” the maiden said demurely, 
though the flash of her eyes under the brown 
hood gave notice that she enjoyed her little 
triumph. 


THE KING’S POWDER 


91 


“For what?” asked John, forced to say 
something. 

“For your manners. What have you done 
to make my father think so well of you?” 

“Does he?” 

“Yes, and he won’t explain to me why!” 
Priscilla confessed with an* engaging smile. 
“You might tell me.” 

She was so charming, so- wholly friendly 
after the old fashion, that John was for an in¬ 
stant tempted to let his secret be wheedled from 
him; in a few hours it would*be public property, 
anyway. Then he recalled the disdain with 
which she had treated him when he rode past 
her two evenings before, and the positive en¬ 
mity which she had shown him at her father’s 
door. If she forgot these things, he did not! 
He would not be made the sport of a pretty 
girl’s whim, scorned one day and smiled upon 
the next. 

“It’s nothing,” he said, carelessly, looking 
away over the brown hood. “Perhaps your 
father knows me better than you do.” 

With that he made his most courtly bow, and 
passed by, pretending not to give the girl 
another look. But from the corner of his eye, 


92 


THE KING’S POWDER 


he caught a glimpse of a face flushed with of¬ 
fended pride. His conscience nagged him a 
little as he hurried toward his destination with 
the picture of the discomfited Priscilla clear 
before his eyes. “It serves her right,’’ he re¬ 
assured himself. “She ought to have begged 
my pardon; that’s what I’d have done. Girls 
are fools, anyway; what do they know about 
such things as we are doing, and the questions 
men have to decide? They hear their fathers 
talk, and get excited and patriotic, but they 
can’t do anything.” 

These complacent reflections engaged John’s 
mind all the way to Mathes’ wharf. His 
mother could have given him information about 
Priscilla Adams that would show her not wholly 
incapable. She could order her father’s house, 
cook, spin, knit, make her own clothes, was 
mistress of a dozen fancy stitches, wrote the 
most delicately perfect hand imaginable, read 
Latin with her father, knew her Bible, the Eng¬ 
lish poets, a little French, and was a patriot by 
conviction. But she had never learned to dance 
and she couldn’t go to Fort William and Mary 
for powder, much as she would have liked to 
do both. 


THE KING’S POWDER 


93 


So John Spencer betook himself to Mathes’ 
wharf, pluming himself, as he strode along, on 
the masculine superiority that enabled him at 
eighteen to play a man’s part in a military ex¬ 
pedition while a girl could but stay at home and 
guess at what was going on. 

There were fourteen men on the gondola 
when it put off, and John, though the young¬ 
est, was not the least provident. He wore a 
sheepskin jacket with the close-clipped wool 
inside, heavy breeches, gaiters over his thick 
stockings, double-knit checked mittens, long 
wristers, a cap that pulled over his ears. In 
this garb, he felt that he could stand the cold as 
well as another; and there was no doubt that 
the cold was on the way. Stray snowflakes 
came sailing down from the dull-gray monoto¬ 
nous sky; the spray froze against the prow; 
patches of ice tossed on the water, and coves 
sheltered from the wind were already surfaced 
over. 

“Oh, yes, we’ll get down all right,” said 
Scammell whom, as an experienced riverman, 
bustling John Sullivan had made navigating 
officer. “The trouble will be to get back. If 
we have to cut pur way through two inches of 


94 


THE KING’S POWDER 


ice, it would take a week to work this craft up 
the Oyster River.” 

“But it won’t freeze over as early as this,” 
declared John. 

“I’ve skated down nearly to Little Bay on 
Christmas day,” returned Scammell. “Of 
course the bay won’t freeze, nor the Piscataqua, 
hut if the ships come from Boston, which they 
say the governor has sent for, and they send 
up boats to chase us, it won’t be pleasant to be 
caught in the ice.” 

“We could roll the guns overboard and get 
ashore across the ice.” 

“And lose the guns we’ve worked so hard to 
secure,” answered Scammell with a smile. “I 
don’t think we’ll do that except as a last re¬ 
sort. ’ ’ 

In the afternoon, close upon low water, the 
gondola came to rest beside another of its 
clumsy species oft Long 'Wharf in Portsmouth. 
Major Sullivan went ashore, and John Spencer, 
having received no orders to the contrary, fol¬ 
lowed him. There were people about in num¬ 
bers, not alone the usual run of unoccupied 
stevedores and besotted floaters of the water¬ 
side, but folk of a better class, sober artisans, 


THE KING’S POWDER 


95 


honest seafaring men in flannel shirts and 
reefers, with a sprinkling of long-coated gentry. 
Evidently the gondola was expected. John had 
just answered the greeting of one of his ac¬ 
quaintances of the first expedition when he 
came suddenly upon Zeb. He stared an in¬ 
stant and then put out his hand with a laugh. 

“I might have known I’d meet you here,” 
he said. “You’re like a bad penny.” 

“Or you are,” retorted Zeb. “You can’t 
meet me without my meeting you.” 

“But there’s a reason why I should be here. 
That gundalow out there came from Durham.” 

Zeb tipped his head in the direction of the 
street. “And that company back there came 
from Exeter. I marched down with ’em.” 

John’s eyes took in the bandoliers crossed 
over Zeb’s breast, and the cocked hat that 
squatted on his curly head. 

“Just for exercise, I suppose, all yesterday 
and most of last night not being enough for 
you!” 

“I guess I could use a little sleep, but I ain’t 
really tired. They called us out early this 
morning, and I could go better than some of the 
other men.” 


96 


THE KING’S POWDER 


“What did you come for?” 

“For nothing apparently. It’s this way. 
They got the idea up in my town that Governor 
Wentworth would call out the militia to-day to 
arrest everybody they could find who went for 
the powder. So about twenty-five gentlemen 
rode down here and our company came along 
afoot. It was all useless because the militia 
wouldn’t come out against us. Captain Dennet 
went through the streets of Portsmouth with a 
drummer and read his proclamation at the cor¬ 
ners but no one appeared.” 

“And the sdldiers from Boston?” 

“Nary a word about ’em. Some say they’re 
cornin’, some say they ain’t, but the ships have 
sailed. I hear the governor is terribly shocked 
that the people should attack the King’s fort. 
He is going to proclaim us all rebels and put a 
price on our heads.” 

John laughed. “Much good it will do if he 
can’t get any one to carry out his orders!” 

“I saw your father here not an hour ago,” 
said Zeb, switching abruptly to another sub¬ 
ject. 

John’s heart gave a great leap. “Did you 
speak to him?” 


THE KING’S POWDER 97 

“No, he spoke to me,” said Zeb, smiling rue¬ 
fully, “and pretty angry he was, too.” 

“Angry about me?” 

“About you and me together. He accused 
me of enticing you into sedition. I asked him 
what he meant and he said he had just learned 
to his shame and horror that you had been 
with the mob that assaulted the fort and 
seized the King’s gunpowder. He said you 
wouldn’t have done such a thing unless I had 
put it into your head.” 

“And you told him you didn’t know I 
was coming till you saw me there?” asked 
John. 

“No, I let him think what he pleased; it mat¬ 
ters not how it came about. Either he’s got 
to change to your side or you’ve got to go back 
to his, or the two of you must disagree and take 
opposite sides. I didn’t exactly ketch what it 
was he meant to do, for he got excited at the 
last of it and spoke pretty loud, and folks be¬ 
gan to stop and prick up their ears and close 
in on us till we had quite a crowd around. 
Then some fellow called out that if he was such 
a black Tory he’d better enlist with Dennet, and 
mebbe he’d get a chance to shoot his own son. 


98 


THE KING’S POWDER 


That stirred the crowd up and started your 
father off.” 

‘ 4 Well, Pm glad he knows it,” said John. 
“It ends the suspense, anyway. I guess I’ll 
have to shift for myself after this.” 

“It looks like it,” Zeb agreed cheerfully, 
“but don’t lose heart. There’s plenty for a 
young man to do who’s willing to work, and if 
things go the way I think they’re going, you’ll 
be wanted to carry a musket for the province. 
You can’t expect your father to change 
his opinions right off. The time may come 
when it will be well for him that you are on 
the other side. If it comes to fightin’, life 
won’t be any too pleasant for these Tory 
folks.” 

“That’s the worst of it all,” said John after 
a pause. “It wouldn’t take much urging to 
raise a mob against my father in Durham now. 
But he must be pretty well riled up or he 
wouldn’t have talked like that to you. He 
mostly keeps his opinions to himself. If he 
breaks out against me in Durham, and folks 
there get the idea that he is persecuting me 
for siding with the colony—” 

4 ‘ He won’t do that, ’ ’ interrupted Zeb. “ He’s 


THE KING’S POWDER 


99 


eased his mind now, and he won’t say any¬ 
thing more.” 

The boys strolled about together for an hour, 
warming themselves at tavern fires, listening to 
discussions at the street corners and in the big 
warehouse stores along the waterside. In a 
tavern in King Street they learned that Major 
Sullivan had gone before the governor and 
council and demanded a direct answer as to 
whether ships or troops were coming. An hour 
later in a general store on Pitt Street they first 
heard the result of the embassy. The governor 
had replied that neither troops nor ships had 
been sent for, but this answer was not consid¬ 
ered satisfactory by the tavern oracles; they 
agreed that the fort should be wholly stripped. 
At the gondola John learned that Sullivan had 
left orders that all hands should be ready for 
the turn of the tide at eight. 

“Do you suppose he’d take me along?” Zeb 
asked. “If Colonel Folsom would let me off 
duty with the company, I guess I could earn 
my passage.” 

“I should say so!” cried John, delighted 
with the prospect of keeping Zeb with him. 
“Let’s find him!” 




100 


THE KING’S POWDER 


Colonel Folsom’s permission was easily ob¬ 
tained; the search for Sullivan took longer. 
They ran him down at last at John Langdon’s 
mansion, where he was resting in the warm 
chimney corner waiting for the good supper 
which was to prepare him for the exposure of 
the night, and discoursing with Langdon on the 
proceedings of the Continental Congress to 
which he had been a delegate two months be¬ 
fore. He strode out into the chill dimly lighted 
hall to meet his visitors, wearing the frown of 
a man who resents interruption. 

“No, I can’t take him,” he said impatiently. 
“We have all the men our limited quarters will 
admit. It will be a long, hard, cold journey up 
the river, and I don’t want passengers.’’ 

“But he can work his way, sir,” protested 
John. “He’s as strong as an ox!— Show 
him your arm, Zeb— Look at that muscle, 
Major! You’ll be glad of his help if we have 
to cut our way up. Yon know what he did for 
us last night!” 

“Yes, yes,” returned Sullivan. “I know 
he’s strong, but what we need is not a Hercules 
but a whale, to tow the scows up the river, or 
in lieu of a whale, light nimble men who can 


THE KING’S POWDER 


101 


work on thin ice. The forecastle will he packed 
without him, and I shouldn’t want to see him 
freeze outside.” 

“I can stand a good deal of cold, sir,” re¬ 
marked Zeb. “If it’s too bad I can go ashore 
and walk home. ’ ’ 

“You’d better take him to the fort at any 
rate, Major,” remarked Langdon, who had been 
drawn to the scene by the sound of familiar 
voices. “I know what he can do. I’ll back 
him to shoulder a four-pounder alone. I think 
I can fit him out with a great-coat. ’ ’ 

“Very well then, but you come at your own 
adventure,” snapped Sullivan. “If you get 
shot or freeze to death, the responsibility will 
rest on your own shoulders.” With this un¬ 
gracious permission he stumped back to the fire¬ 
side, leaving Langdon to make good his promise 
of equipment as his generous heart dictated. 

“Don’t be troubled by what Major Sullivan 
said,” urged John as the two came down the 
steps of the Langdon mansion. “He’s fiery, 
but his bark is a great deal worse than his 
bite.” 

Zeb laughed. “I’m not troubled. If I can’t 
make myself as useful as any man who hails 


102 


THE KING’S POWDER 


from Durham I’ll clear out at the first chance 
and leave the little oyster-catchers to freeze to 
their own flats.” 

“You needn’t sneer at the Major,” retorted 
John. “He’s no little oyster-catcher. Did you 
ever hear how he got the right to practise law 
in Durham?” And he told how the Durham- 
ites, who were averse to lawyers as fomenters 
of discord, waited upon the young man who had 
made bold to hang out a shingle in their town 
and bade him move on. Sullivan offered to 
fight any man they would put up, and go if he 
were beaten. “He threw our champion at the 
first grip,” John concluded, “and sat on his 
head till they agreed to let him stay.” 

Zeb was impressed. “He must be a queer 
kind of a lawyer,” he said. “There wouldn’t 
be one left in Exeter if they had that test. But 
then Durham isn’t much of a town—” 

This taunt John of course could not let pass 
unchallenged, and the friends engaged immedi¬ 
ately in the agreeable pastime of discrediting 
each other’s birthplace. In this contest John 
Spencer had the advantage not only of a quicker 
tongue, but of a knowledge of certain notorious 
unworthies of Zeb’s home town which enabled 


THE KING’S POWDER 


103 


him to meet general assertions with crashing 
particulars. Before they reached the door of 
the tavern where they were to sup, Zeb was 
whipped to a standstill; his quiver furnished 
no better arrows than contemptuous grunts. 


CHAPTER VI 


The Durham gondola cast off soon after the 
turn of the tide, followed by its sister from 
Portsmouth. Both made fast an hour later at 
the landing at Newcastle, the men went ashore 
and marched to the fort. The capture of the 
fortress was ridiculously easy. The single 
sentinel on duty challenged timidly “Who goes 
there V’ and waited in fright to give himself up 
to the first invader. Cochrane emerged from 
the ramshackle barracks with his sword, but 
as he showed no disposition to use it, he was 
not even put under guard. The guns were 
wrested from their position on the ramparts, 
rolled upon stoneboats, and dragged to the land¬ 
ing by teams provided by Newcastle villagers. 
Fifteen four-pounders, one nine-pounder, a 
quantity of balls of all sizes, some sixty mus¬ 
kets, and the last barrel of powder made the 
journey to the gondolas. By the time this was 
done the tide was near its turn, and the leaders 
decided to leave the big guns for another visit 

104 


THE KING’S POWDER 105 

when they should have the benefit of day¬ 
light. 

With the first sign of the incoming waters the 
gondolas were pushed off into the drift. Zeb, 
who had gained the favor of Scammell if not of 
Sullivan, was posted at the bow with a long 
pike-pole for work in emergencies under the eye 
of the pilot. If any one man could check the 
swing of the clumsy craft toward the shallows 
that man was Zeb. The sky had cleared; the 
stars shining bright through the freezing air 
and the young moon dropping toward the hor¬ 
izon furnished light enough for the old river- 
dogs who had drifted and sailed and poled their 
way up on the flood tides of an indefinite num¬ 
ber of years. Here a dark mass of trees, there 
a gaunt pine, towering solitary against the sky 
like a signal staff, were way marks to the 
pilots. But mostly they seemed to work by 
guess—the instinct born of long experience. 

The gondolas were safely out of the river and 
in the lower stretches of Little Bay when the 
streaks of breaking dawn greeted the eyes of 
the watchers. They caught the first weak, life¬ 
less rays of the sun near the ferry by which 
John had crossed two mornings before, eagerly 


106 


THE KING’S POWDER 


longing for the critical event that should break 
the bonds that held him inert. The event had 
come; he was a rebel twice over, with a record 
bad enough to send him to hang in chains on 
an English gibbet, if the government only pos¬ 
sessed the power to lay hands upon him. He 
smiled weakly at the thought of the change in 
his circumstances, as he toiled away at a sweep. 
It was of necessity a weak smile, for he was 
dull from lack of sleep, faint with hunger, 
chilled to the marrow, and haunted continually 
by the dread of the inevitable scene with his 
father. 

Half a mile up the Oyster River they came 
upon ice extending across the channel. The 
crews worked the gondolas into the ice, where 
they were left to be held by the tide while all 
hands breakfasted. Then the night watch re¬ 
tired to the forecastle to sleep while those who 
had rested on the way up put the dories over¬ 
side, and with axes and saws set to work 
to break a passage through. 

John slept like a log in the stuffy little coop 
where the men lay thick on bunks and floor, 
and only those whose lungs had been washed 
clean by long exposure to the pure air of the 


THE KING’S POWDER 


107 


open could escape suffocation. Towards noon 
some one rolled heavily against him, and made 
him conscious of an aching head. He went 
on deck where leaning against the wall of 
the forecastle he looked out upon the river 
and waited for his head to clear. The gondolas 
were anchored in a long ice-hound lane of 
water; sliding past on the outgoing tide were 
thin plates and slabs of ice as they were broken 
loose by the men in the dories working a hun¬ 
dred yards away. John could make out Zeb 
standing in the bow of one of the boats heaving 
forward a weight to which a line was attached. 
As the weight struck the thin ice it crashed 
through, and the line held the boat fast so that 
the breakers could work. Zeb, though he had 
been awake the whole night, refused to turn in 
during the day. Major Sullivan, won over 
against his prejudice, had given him charge of 
a dory, with the result that wherever Zeb’s 
boat lay there was always to be found the apex 
of the advance. 

All hands gathered for dinner. The menu 
was simple but sustaining: cold pork, brown 
chunks of baked beans, bread, butter, and 


108 


THE KING’S POWDER 


cheese, washed down by a hot mixture strongly 
fortified by rum, for in those days men still be¬ 
lieved that no hard labor could be accomplished 
without the support of alcohol. After dinner, 
till darkness cut them off, they pushed on 
through the ice, dragging the gondolas up 
against the tide with kedge-anchor and wind¬ 
lass, lest the lane which they had opened might 
close again while they waited for the flood, and 
their work should go for naught. There was 
no lagging, no sulking, no disputing as to meth¬ 
ods. The business was serious and the men 
were hard-handed, earnest men. 

>So for two nights and a day the crews 
worked their way through the barrier of win¬ 
ter. News of their progress was carried along 
the river banks. When the tower of Durham 
meeting-house came in sight around the last 
bend—it was early on the second day—the 
worn toilers on the gondolas beheld it over a 
cluster of boats channeling out to meet them. 
People appeared on the wharves and along the 
shore waving a welcome. 

‘ ‘ There ’ll be no secret about the destina¬ 
tion of this cargo,’ ’ called Scammell from 


THE KING’S POWDER 


109 


John's boat across to Sullivan. “If the regu¬ 
lars come, they’ll know where to find the 
guns.” 

“Let ’em come!” returned Sullivan. “They 
will have to trace the cannon to a dozen differ¬ 
ent hiding-places, and no one in our town 
would betray us.” 

John glancing about caught the eyes of two 
of his townsmen fixed upon him. Their ex¬ 
pression was thoughtful rather than suspicious, 
and yet the boy felt his heart stagger within him 
as if he had received news of a great misfortune. 
They were thinking not of him but of his 
father. Could it be that they held his father 
capable of playing the spy in camp? 

Dusk was settling as the gondolas were tied 
up to the wharves and the tired, frost-bitten 
men released to go their way in triumph town- 
ward. Scammell had offered to put Zeb up 
for the night, and John, who shrank from tak¬ 
ing his friend where he himself was uncertain 
of welcome, felt grateful for it. He said good¬ 
night to his companions as soon as they reached 
the wharf. The bystanders, whom he passed 
on his way up to the street, seemed to him, in 
his state of over-wrought nerves, to stare ydth 


110 


THE KING’S POWDER 


unwonted curiosity. This interest, which he 
might naturally have ascribed to admiration 
for his achievements, he charged up to other 
motives. Perhaps they too regarded him as 
one of a family of traitors! His lips pressed 
more closely together, as he asked himself 
scornfully whether traitors were wont to court 
such hardships as he had undergone during the 
last few days. “It can’t be that they suspect 
me,” he thought. “With my record, and Sulli¬ 
van and Scammell and Colonel Langdon to 
speak for me, I can snap my fingers at the whole 
crew of tap-room patriots. But they think I’m 
only a boy and that Father will worm infor¬ 
mation out of me and send it to the governor to 
have ready to act upon when Cage’s troops 
come. He never would do it. He may be a 
Tory but he isn’t a sneak.” 

He fell to considering then whether it would 
be better not to go home at all. He might 
clear his father of suspicion of treachery by 
staying away from him altogether. But this 
course, too, he soon saw would be ineffectual. 
If he stayed away, Mr. Spencer would be 
charged with driving him out. Whatever he 
did, he was bound to involve his father in 


THE KING’S POWDER 


111 


trouble. The very activity which he had shown 
in the cause seemed only to swell the unpop¬ 
ularity from which the older man suffered in 
his stubborn and yet honest allegiance to the 
King. 

Presently, in the gathering darkness, John 
made out the figure of a girl approaching. 
The hood with its edging of white, above dark 
bands of hair, the long fur-edged cloak, the 
squirrel-skin muff, were familiar tokens. A 
thrill of pleasure brightened the boy’s de¬ 
spondent heart, as Priscilla stopped in front 
of him. 

“So you’re back,” she said, cordially. “I 
heard that you had got the guns. It must 
have been terribly cold on the gundalow.” 

“It wasn’t like summer,” answered John, 
lightly, “but I came through without much 
damage. I had to work too hard to feel the 
cold.” 

“And no one was hurt at the fort?” 

John laughed. “It isn’t a very grand feat 
of arms for fifty men to overpower one sulky 
officer and five scared soldiers.” 

“I am glad. You won’t have to go again, 
shall you ? I think you’ve done your part. My 


112 


THE KING’S POWDER 


father says all yon aimed at was to secure for 
the province the necessary means of defense.” 

“I guess it’s the other side’s turn now,” said 
John. “They may try to get back what we’ve 
taken. How would you like to see the red¬ 
coats in Durham?” 

“I shouldn’t like it at all! But if they come, 
they won’t get the powder nor the men that 
took it.” 

“Why not?” 

Priscilla stamped her foot on the frozen 
ground. “Because we won’t give them up, 
neither the men nor the powder! You know 
that as well as I do.” 

John smiled at the girl’s ardor. “I don’t 
believe they’ll come,” he said. “General Gage 
has too many troubles of his own in Boston.” 

“John,” said the girl changing abruptly to 
a tone of timidity, “I want to tell you some¬ 
thing. I have just seen the Thompson girls. 
They say a lot of men are going up to your 
house to-night to make your father sign a paper 
saying he will do nothing against the liberties 
of the province. They pretend he’s a danger¬ 
ous man, and the more dangerous now that 
the powder and cannon from the fort have 


THE KING’S POWDER 


113 


come to Durham. You must persuade him to 
sign.” 

“That’s a hard thing to do,” answered the 
boy. “He isn’t a man to be forced against 
his will.” He stood in silence for a brief in¬ 
terval, while Priscilla peered through the fad¬ 
ing twilight to catch the expression of his 
face. 

“They have no right to do it either,” he 
added fiercely. “He has done naught against 
the laws of the colony. He minds his own bus¬ 
iness and says naught amiss.” 

“He has said something against you and 
against this attack on the fort,” insisted Pris¬ 
cilla. “I don’t know what it was, but it has 
gone from mouth to mouth, and has been made 
worse by every telling. You know how bitter 
the people are against the Tories. They go 
to the taverns and drink and talk and work 
themselves up.” 

“I know,” returned the boy, sullenly, “and 
not one in ten of ’em would enlist if we had 
to fight, or if they enlisted they’d desert at the 
first chance. I know those loafers round the 
wharves, those grand orators in the taverns. 
Jim Dowd and Hank Bean and the crowd that 


114 


THE KING’S POWDER 


hang around Lovell’s stable, and the idle boat¬ 
men who are too lazy to go into the woods in 
the winter—fine patriots they are! My father 
is worth more than the whole riffraff put to¬ 
gether ! ’ ’ 

‘‘But it would be so much easier if he’d 
sign,” pleaded Priscilla, “for you as well as 
for him.” 

“I suppose it would be easier all round if we 
were all different from what we are,” retorted 
John testily, “but it happens that Father is 
what he is and I am what I am and we can’t 
change ourselves. He won’t sign, I can tell 
you that.” 

“Not if you explain how necessary it is and 
how much you desire it!” 

“No, the more you press him, the more set 
he grows. Besides, I’m not sure that I want 
him to sign such a paper. He ’ll do what seems 
to him right, and why should I urge him to 
do what he thinks is wrong!” 

“Because he has no business to think so. 
The real wrong is to side with our oppressors, 
with the tyrannical King and the wicked min¬ 
istry who are trying to crush us and take our 
liberties from us!” 


THE KING’S POWDER 


115 


As she uttered these words—phrases caught 
from the speech of her elders—Priscilla threw 
back her head and flashed a defiant look from 
her eyes. John could perceive neither the 
movement nor the look on account of the 
darkness, but he had seen Priscilla in a stren¬ 
uous mood before and he understood perfectly 
just how she bore herself and what was the 
expression of her face. A violent little parti¬ 
san, blind to all points of view but her own and 
her father’s, she evidently despised him as a 
half-hearted falterer. 

“It’s not so simple as you think,” he said. 
“To my father, loyalty to the crown is a more 
sacred duty than loyalty to the colony; but you 
can’t understand that, nor the position I am in. 
I must do the best I can. Thank you for the 
warning. Good-night.’ ’ 

When John opened the door of the living- 
room of the Spencer house, he saw his mother 
sitting beside a stand on which burned two 
candles, her sewing neglected in her lap, her 
head bowed. At sight of him she started up 
with a little cry of joy, and coming hastily to¬ 
ward him kissed him with a sob. There were 
tears in her eyes and her voice quavered as 


116 


THE KING’S POWDER 


she spoke. “What a bad boy you have been! 
How could you do it!” 

“I had to, Mother,” the young man answered. 
“Every one must decide sometime, and I’ve 
decided by going to save the powder and the 
guns.” 

“But to take arms against the King and the 
Governor,” Mrs. Spencer exclaimed in tones of 
deep reproach, “and join those wicked dis¬ 
loyal men who are seeking to ruin us all by 
forcing the country into rebellion; to turn 
traitor and bring shame on your father, perhaps 
be arrested and sent to England to prison or 
execution! Oh, John, it’s too dreadful to think 
of. You couldn’t have understood what you 
were doing. And to steal off and leave us in 
suspense for days!” 

“I understood perfectly well what I was do¬ 
ing, Mother,” replied John. “I was taking the 
part of my country against her oppressors, as 
nine out of every ten men in the colony would 
do to-morrow if the need came. It is you who 
do not understand. And as for stealing off, 
why, I left word with Martha that I was going 
down the river.” 

“Yes, but not that you were bent on such an 


THE KING’S POWDER 


117 


errand. Your father heard in Portsmouth that 
you were with the mob which raided the fort 
and took the powder. At first he tried to think 
it was just an act of thoughtlessness, that you 
had been led away by a boyish craving for ad¬ 
venture, but when he got home and learned 
that you had gone a second time, then he knew 
that you had chosen deliberately. I have never 
seen him so angry as he was that night, angry 
and yet cut to the heart and ashamed. Since 
his first outburst he has hardly said a word 
to the children, and he spends the whole day 
at his sawmill so as not to have to talk with 
the people in the village.’’ 

“I am not ashamed of what I have done, 
Mother,” said the boy proudly. “I will do 
anything he asks of me except one thing—I 
cannot be a Tory or stand by idle while other 
men fight for my rights and yours, too, and 
Father’s, if he would only see it. Where is 
he ? I must tell him what I have done and come 
to some understanding with him before I eat 
or rest.” 

Mrs. Spencer laid her hand on her son’s 
arm and looked pleadingly up into his eyes. 
“He isn’t back yet, and when he does come 


118 


THE KING’S POWDER 


you mustn’t open the subject. Let him speak 
first, and remember that he is your father and 
sorely hurt. ’ ’ Her hand slipped down the boy’s 
coat sleeve to his icy fingers. “How cold your 
hands are,” she cried with a sudden flash of 
motherly concern, “and how tired and worn 
you look! You must have had a dreadfully 
hard time all these days on the river. Now 
do what I bid you! Go right into the kitchen 
and take off your boots and sit by the hearth. 
Martha shall fix you up something hot to 
drink.” . . . And as the boy hesitated and 
started to protest, she cut him off with a kiss 
and besought him not to be foolish but to go 
directly and do her bidding. 

In the kitchen while he toasted his feet be¬ 
fore the fire, Martha prepared the hot drink, 
taking occasion as she did so to scold him 
properly for absenting himself for three whole 
days and leaving his family to worry their 
heads off about him. 

“Bad company and trying to be men before 
their time ruins a lot of boys,” she grumbled 
as she brought the steaming pewter cup. 
“They know more than their parents, and 
think they must go to sea or run away to 


THE KING’S POWDER 


119 


seek their fortunes, when if they stayed right 
at home and honored their father and their 
mother they’d be a sight better off and keep 
out of mischief, till they was old enough to 
know the bad from the good. It was different 
when I was a gal. Then boys expected to 
work at home every day from sun to sun till 
they was given their time, with a day off now 
and again for fishing or training when the work 
was cleaned up; or they took the trade their 
fathers apprenticed ’em to. Now every boy 
wants to be a lawyer or a sea-cap’n or a gen¬ 
eral and ends more’n likely in some low 
sailor’s tavern, or shot dead on the battlefield 
fightin’ for nobody knows what. An idle hand 
never holds anything, my father used to say, 
and he was right, too, the way he meant it; 
but if I’d knowed as much then as I do now, 
I’d answered back quick: ‘An idle hand usu¬ 
ally holds a pint pot over a tavern table,’—only 
children didn’t answer back in those days.” 

All this and more Martha poured forth from 
the depths of her experience as she trod the 
sanded floor of her big kitchen. John did not 
listen, much less offer reply. He set himself 
to think what he should say to his father, but 


120 


THE KING’S POWDER 


he was in fact too tired to think, and under the 
influence of the comfortable warmth and the 
steady singsong of Martha’s moralizing he fell 
into a doze from which he was roused by the 
creak of the door from the barn passage and 
the tramp of heavy deliberate steps across the 
kitchen floor. 

He looked up with a start into the austere 
heavily-lined face of his father. The keen gray 
eyes peering out beneath straight brows caught 
his glance and held it a moment, as one might 
flash a challenge to a foe. Then the older man 
passed on without sign of recognition. 

Fully awake now, John sat up straight and 
stared with unseeing eyes at the chimney-back 
where little lines of sparks ran to and fro 
through the clinging soot — 4 ‘ Indians training,’ ’ 
as Martha called them. A tinker or an itiner¬ 
ant chair-mender resting before the kitchen fire 
would have received at least a nod of wel¬ 
come from Gideon Spencer. The son was a 
stranger in his father’s house. The question 
was no longer what he should say in his de¬ 
fense, but where he should go for shelter when 
his home was closed against him, and how he 
should earn his living when thrown on his own 


THE KING’S POWDER, 


121 


resources. The boy’s thoughts ran rapidly 
over the courses open to him. He would go 
first to Mr. Scammell and Squire Sullivan; if 
they could give him no help, he would apply to 
Colonel Langdon in Portsmouth who had ves¬ 
sels at sea, or tramp on to Salem where cen¬ 
tered the West Indies trade. Men were wary 
of service in the winter months; he could surely 
find a berth in some ship that would give him 
employment until the political horizon cleared. 
Then, if war came, as shrewd men were pro¬ 
phesying, he would return to enlist, with Zeb 
perhaps as comrade-in-arms, and take his part 
in the struggle for the simple rights of Eng¬ 
lish colonists. 

And then he recalled the warning given him 
by Priscilla of the visit of the mob. “Not 
to-night,” he decided. “I must stay here to¬ 
night. It will be better, too, on Mother’s ac¬ 
count. I will say nothing to-night, but in the 
morning I’ll have it out with him. I can’t 
justify myself in his eyes, but I can talk bet¬ 
ter after a night’s rest, and we must part in 
peace. He is only taking the course which he 
thinks is right. I must remember that.” 

Martha now admonished him in her queru- 


122 


THE KING’S POWDER 


lous fashion that the folks were having sup¬ 
per and that he had better stop his mooning 
and get in to eat before everything was stone 
cold. John did not stir; he was doubtful 
whether he should be wanted at the family table. 
Presently, however, when Mrs. Spencer herself 
came quietly out to repeat Martha ’s injunction, 
he rose from his chair, washed at the sink, and 
took his seat with the family. 

Gideon Spencer neither spoke to his son nor 
looked at him during the meal. It was as if 
John did not exist for him, as if the chair beside 
his were empty. Indeed, except when some 
dish was pressed upon him by his attentive 
spouse, he had no word for any one at the table. 
For the most part his eyes were directed down¬ 
ward to a spot somewhere beyond his plate. 
Now and again his brows contracted as if in 
accord with a bitter resolution forming in his 
mind, and then the frown would slowly smooth 
itself out and an expression of sadness and dis¬ 
couragement creep over his face. The chil¬ 
dren, though used to their father’s taciturn 
ways, were conscious of an unusual strain. 
As John took his seat, Sophia asked eagerly 
of her big brother where he had been so long 


THE KING’S POWDER 


123 


and what he had been doing; but John’s tense 
shake of the head and the mother’s muttered 
“Hush!” quenched the eagerness of her cu¬ 
riosity. Awed and shocked she fell silent, while 
the younger children, affected by the rebuff 
which their sister had received, and struck by 
the sense of something ominous in the air, eyed 
both father and mother in uneasy wonder. 

At last Mr. Spencer pushed back his chair 
and taking his candle from the sideboard 
lighted it from one of the table candlesticks. 
Then, for the first time glancing straight into 
his son’s flushed face, he said sternly, “Come!” 
and led the way into his office. John was on 
his feet instantly. His mother’s beseeching 
look he answered with another meant to be re¬ 
assuring; but fearing that she might misunder¬ 
stand him he turned back to whisper in her ear 
that she could trust him to be calm and respect¬ 
ful. Tears flooded her eyes. She pressed his 
hand. 

“Remember the commandment: honor thy 
father and thy mother,—not disobey them. Do 
not anger him further by unseemly speech. 
You have tried him sorely.” 

The boy shook his head with a wan smile 


124 


THE KING’S POWDER 


which might perhaps suggest for her solace 
that he had no thought of disobedience, and 
walking quickly into his father’s room closed 
the door behind him. 


CHAPTER VII 


Mb. Spencer did not ask his son to be seated. 
The boy stood on the obscure edge of the faint 
circle of light, with eyes fixed on his father’s 
set face. The candle on the desk threw its yel¬ 
low gleam on the man’s grim features, inten¬ 
sifying every contraction of the lips, lending 
fire to every snap of the gray eyes. 

“So you’ve come back to me,” he began 
tensely, “after two piratical raids on His 
Majesty’s castle. Do you understand the 
enormity of the crime you have committed?” 

“I think so,” answered the boy quietly. 

“Then you know that you are guilty of high 
treason, and nothing can save you from the 
gallows but the mercy of the King or the re¬ 
volt of the entire province?” 

“The entire province will revolt before it 
lets us go to the gallows,” said John. 

“The province will not revolt!” declared 
Mr. Spencer. “When once the regulars appear 
on the scene, the demagogues who have been 

125 



126 


THE KING’S POWDER 


inciting the mobs will go into hiding, and the 
loyal people, still the great majority, will wel¬ 
come the protection of the troops.’’ 

“ There are not many loyalists in Durham, 
sir. In Portsmouth when the governor ordered 
out the militia last Wednesday not a man ap¬ 
peared!” 

“What are Durham and Portsmouth com¬ 
pared with the whole province ? ’ ’ Mr. Spencer 
retorted savagely. “What is pig-headed, mu¬ 
tinous, fanatical Boston compared with the rich 
and contented colonies to the south! But even 
if they were all united, if the scum of the lower 
classes contaminated the whole mass, and every 
man in the whole continent from Georgia to 
the St. Lawrence were as much a rebel as Sam 
Adams or John Sullivan,—let England put 
forth her strength and we must yield. Be it 
now or after a tight, sometime we must yield, 
and the affront which your band of outlaws have 
put upon the governor will only serve to make 
our punishment the more severe.” 

“I hope you won’t say these things in public, 
Father.” 

“And, pray, why not?” demanded Mr. Spen¬ 


cer. 


THE KING’S POWDER 


127 


“ Because the people are so down on Tories, 
sir. They might do you a mischief. ’’ 

“I don’t chatter politics with the vulgar on 
the street corners,” said the father, proudly. 
“I attend to my own business, honor God and 
the King, and treat all men justly. No man 
living hath cause of complaint against me.” 

4 ‘ That is true, Father, but you are known as 
a Tory and what you say is marked.” 

Gideon Spencer was silent for a few seconds, 
and his look lost something of its sternness. 
A quiet, deliberate man, fixed in his opinion 
but naturally averse to conflict, he was thrown 
off his balance a little by the hint that he had 
been indiscreet and that indiscretion might have 
unpleasant consequences. In a moment, how¬ 
ever, having weighed the suggestion and dis¬ 
missed it as absurd, he harked back to the es¬ 
sential matter and his face grew grim again. 
“And my son whom I have reared with every 
indulgence sneaks away from me to run after 
the pack of rebels and worthless loud-mouthed 
praters who play on his ignorance. I suppose 
you, too, despise me as a Tory!” 

“I do not, sir,” cried the boy. “I know you 
are sincere and true to your duty as you see it, 


128 


THE KING’S POWDER 


but I must also be true to what I believe to be 
right. I was not born in England as you were; 
I cannot feel as you do toward the king and 
the ministry. This is my country, the only 
country I know, and its rights are dearer to 
me than any tie to England. I wasn’t led away 
by bad men, I have been thinking upon this 
matter for months. When the time came, I 
meant to declare myself. I was in Portsmouth 
when the first expedition left and I joined it 
on the spur of the moment, but I cannot feel 
sorry that I went. I only regret that I did not 
tell you of it that night.” 

“And you persist in going counter to my 
will!” broke in the father, hoarsely. 

John opened his eyes. “What would you 
have me do! Go to the governor and tell him 
where the powder is hidden, and beg for len¬ 
iency!” 

“God forbid!” Mr. Spencer declared, sol¬ 
emnly. “Better honest rebel than a traitor to 
both sides.” 

“That’s what I knew you would say,” cried 
the boy wfith a flash of relief in his eyes. “I 
have chosen my part and I am ready to abide 
the consequences. Let me go away and shift 


THE KING’S POWDER 


129 


for myself. That will relieve you from re¬ 
sponsibility for my actions, and I shall be free 
to hold my own opinions. ” 

Mr. Spencer hesitated long before answering. 
‘ ‘ So be it, ’ ’ he said at length. 4 ‘ I cannot harbor 
a rebel to the King in my house. To-morrow 
I will give you a sum of money and you may 
go. To-night you shall sleep here.” 

“Thank you, Father,” exclaimed John, who 
felt that a burden had been rolled from his 
shoulders. “And we part friends!” 

“Yes,” answered Mr. Spencer wearily, “as 
friends—nothing else. ’’ 

Later John sat again half dozing in the rush- 
bottomed chair before the kitchen fireplace, pre¬ 
tending to listen to Martha, whose tongue was 
clacking vigorously. His mother was putting 
the little ones to bed. Suddenly a prolonged 
rat-a-tat-tat penetrated to the kitchen. 

“Who’s that nankin’ such a to-do!” grumbled 
Martha, as she lighted another candle to carry 
with her to the door. “If they worked as hard 
as I do, they’d want to stop home o’ nights.” 

She disappeared with her candle through the 
dining-room door, while the tired but not wholly 
unhappy boy closed his eyes once more. After 


130 


THE KING’S POWDER 


a minute the front door slammed and the old 
servant burst in again all in a flutter, trail¬ 
ing behind her the smoke of the candle her 
rapid movement had extinguished. 

“It's a lot of rapscallions, all the vagabonds 
in town!” she cried. “Jim Dowd and Bill 
Hench and that drunken loafer, Hank Bean, are 
headin’ ’em. They’re full of rum and hard 
cider, and they’ve got a paper they say your 
father has got to sign and they be goin’ to 
carry him off if he don’t do it. Never did I 
see such works since I was in this house, twenty 
years come next New Year’s Day. And him the 
quietest, peaceablest man in Derrum!” 

John did not wait to hear more. Throwing 
over the chair in his haste, he dashed through 
the dining-room into the long hall and down its 
length to the front door, where his father now 
stood on the threshold, facing a semicircle of 
men. They were not the best citizens of the 
village, nor were they all in a condition of per¬ 
fect sobriety. In the lantern light heavy threat¬ 
ening shadows hung upon their faces and their 
eyes gleamed wild and hostile. 

“Read it!” his father was saying as John 
stopped behind him. “I can’t make it out.” 


THE KING’S POWDER 


131 


Whereupon Jim Dowd, who stood in the cen¬ 
ter of the curving line, snatched the paper from 
his hand and holding it close to the lantern, pro¬ 
claimed the contents in a loud, insolent voice. 

“Whereai I, the Subscriber, being under 
suspicion cf being an enemy to my country 
and engaged in a plot against her liberties, do 
solemnly swear by the great name of the ever- 
living God that I will hereafter do my duty as 
a good subject of this colony, that I will not, 
directly or indirectly, aid, assist, advise, or give 
intelligence to any person or persons acting 
under the authority of the King of Great Brit¬ 
ain or any of them under the dominion of said 
King, and that I take this oath without any 
mental reservation or equivocation whatsoever 
and mean honestly and faithfully to keep it. 

To be signed by Gideon Spencer.” 

“I will not sign it,” said Mr. Spencer when 
the pompous reader had concluded. “ Whether 
I am under such a suspicion or not I know not, 
but I have done nothing to warrant this and I 
will not put my name to any document that 
presumes the contrary. You have no authority 
to demand this of me—” 

“ Authority or not we have the power, and 
we mean to use it,” returned Dowd savagely. 
“ Durham is an important place since the pow- 



132 


THE KING’S POWDER 


der and guns have come here, and we won’t 
have no traitors plottin’ among us. We’ll be¬ 
lieve you under oath and not otherwise. Sign, 
or out of town you go and out you stay— Be 
I right, friends?” 

“ Ay, right you be!” came the answering yell. 

Gideon Spencer’s face was white; his voice 
trembled but he answered stoutly, “I will not 
sign it.” 

“Hustle him out, the traitor,” shouted a big 
red-faced fellow who stood on the lower step. 
It was Bill Hench, the well known tavern bully. 
The chorus echoed the threat. 

At this moment John pushed past his father 
into the foreground. His heart was bursting 
with indignation. 

“What do you mean by putting this shame 
upon us!” he demanded fiercely. “What has 
my father done to be insulted like this!” 

The men fell back a little at this unlooked- 
for interference. “It ain’t what he’s done, 
youngster, but what he’s liable to do,” said 
Hench, “and what we ain’t goin’ to let him do.” 

But John, paying no heed to the reply, swept 
on. “Who among you was in the first attack 
on the fort when we took the powder?” 



“What do you mean by putting this shame upon us?” 

Page 132. 
















\ 














































•f 









. ' • ■ • i 













THE KING’S POWDER 


133 


No one answered. 

“I was there,’’ continued the boy, “and I 
helped distribute it that night when you were 
swilling and talking big at the White Horse 
taproom or Stubbs’ tavern. Who spent two 
nights and a day fighting the ice on the river 
to bring in the guns? Not one of you! I 
did.” 

“So did I,” called a familiar voice, as Zeb 
swung himself up on the porch behind the 
speaker. The newcomer caught a glimpse of 
Martha’s scared face at the door and whispered 
a message in her ear that sent her back into 
the house. John, too hotly in earnest to no¬ 
tice the incident, hurried on to his appeal. 

“And this is the way you repay us! Go 
home and wait till you’ve done half so much for 
the cause before you come here making my 
father sign an insulting paper like that.” 

The climax was hardly conciliatory. The 
men began to growl to each other. Some one 
on the outskirts shouted, “He’s goin’ to get 
out of you where it’s hid and have the sodgers 
up to fetch it!” 

“That’s a lie!” retorted John. “He hasn’t 
asked me where it’s hid. He told me himself 


134 


THE KING’S POWDER 


to-night that he wouldn’t have me go back on 
what I Ve done.’ 9 

4 ‘Then let him sign the paper,” shouted 
Dowd, moving forward a step. “We’ll be¬ 
lieve him when he’s put his name to it, and 
not afore.” 

“I refuse to sign,” declared Mr. Spencer, 
taking a hand in the argument. 

“We have had enough of this!” Hench 
growled. “Say, mates, be we going to let 
a little turkey-cock talk us down? What are 
we here for, anyway? Come on, we’ll run the 
old fox out o’ town—” 

He sprang up the steps followed by Dowd. 
The others pressed in closer, but still hesi¬ 
tated to attack. “Come on!” yelled Hench, 
turning again to his band. “I ain’t afeard, if 
ye be.” He grasped Gideon Spencer by the 
shoulder and shook him rudely. “Why, I 
could shut him up like a jackknife alone!” 

John, though he knew he was no match for 
the wrestler, was not one to yield without a 
struggle. Furious, he struck the hand from his 
father’s shoulder. Hench turned on him with 
an oath, but even as he raised his arm to strike, 
Zeb’s arms closed around his waist, Zeb’s legs 


THE KING’S POWDER 


135 


settled to the strain, and the champion of 
the taverns was pitched like a sack of bran 
among the legs of his followers below the 
steps. 

“Take the other, John,” called Zeb, coolly. 
“I’ll watch here.” 

But Dowd had not waited ta be taken. He 
made a safe and prompt retreat upon his re¬ 
serves. And while Hench was being picked up 
by his disconcerted friends, Martha appeared 
at the door with a wooden bar from a window 
shutter and the heavy iron fork which she used 
to adjust the logs in her big fireplace. 

“ ’Tis the best I can do,” she panted. 
“There’s naught else handy but a fowling- 
piece.” 

“Take the stick, John,” said Zeb, seizing 
the fork and poising it in the air to feel its 
weight. “You’d better go inside, sir,” he sug¬ 
gested to Mr. Spencer. “This is our fight 
now. ’ ’ 

Swinging the four feet of iron in wide whiz¬ 
zing sweeps, Zeb advanced to the edge of the 
porch and started to descend the steps. “I’m 
going to cut a swath right to the gate and 
back again,” he shouted to the men below. 


136 


THE KING’S POWDER 


“Fair warning! Don’t blame me for broken 
ribs.” 

The mob fell back in confusion, eclipsing the 
lanterns as they shuffled to and fro. Only a 
blinking gleam fell upon the figure of Zeb as he 
made his quarter-staff sing in the air, and call¬ 
ing “Room! room!” mowed his way toward 
the gate. John followed him down the step^s. 
He had advanced but a few yards when the 
rays of a lantern flashing out between moving 
bodies fell on the stooping form of Hench steal¬ 
ing in upon the scytheman from behind. 

“Look out, Zeb! He’s behind you!” John 
shouted, but too late. Hench leaped upon Zeb’s 
back and bore him to the ground. 

“I’ve got him, men. Oome on!” yelled 
Hench, who was kneeling astride the prostrate 
form. Zeb did not move. He held his hands 
safe beneath his breast with elbows hugged 
tight to his side. “Never mind me, John!” 
he grunted. “Take the fork and go at ’em!” 

Groping, John found the fork and swinging it 
with a will stepped slowly forward. It did not 
occur to him to fear for his friend; he had 
absolute faith that Zeb in any contest of brawn 
and wrestling skill could hold his own. 


THE KING’S POWDER 


137 


“•Come back, you cowards!” shouted Hench, 
whose armful was beginning to squirm be¬ 
neath him. “Take the boy from behind. I’ve 
got the worst one.” 

His summons stayed the retreat. The men 
halted, spread out, and began to develop a 
flank movement. John was falling back with 
the design of pitchforking Hench from Zeb’s 
back and winning again the help of his strong- 
armed ally. Before he could fully carry out 
his purpose, he caught through a gap between 
the heads the flash of an approaching lantern. 
A tall gaunt man wearing a long full black 
cloak pushed through the crowd, which parted 
to give him passageway. At his side, the ruffle 
of her hood showing just above his shoulder, 
moved a girl with glowing cheeks and eyes 
that snapped little flashes of scorn to right and 
left as she passed. It was Parson Adams and 
his daughter. The minister, advancing slowly, 
threw the light of his lantern from face to face, 
and spoke in the full sonorous tones with which 
he boomed his weekly warnings from the pul¬ 
pit against the unregenerate. 

“I know you, James Dowd, and Henry 
Bean, and Terence Patterson, and Thomas 


138 


THE KING’S POWDER 


Fogg, and others whom I will not name but 
will remember when the proper occasion comes. 
Be off home, every one of you, or I will testify 
against you at Squire Sullivan’s court, and you 
shall have an opportunity to sit in the stocks 
and meditate on your wicked ways. Shame on 
you to sully the name of the patriot cause by 
rioting and persecution! Would you have it 
said that we cannot keep decent order in Dur¬ 
ham without the help of the King’s troops'? 
Disperse I say, and pray the Almighty to for¬ 
give you!” 

And they dispersed—there was no gainsay¬ 
ing the minister’s authority—sneaking silently 
out by the gate, but stopping in the safe ob¬ 
scurity of the highway to see how fared the 
leader whom they had left behind. The parson 
advanced with his lantern until the circle of 
its light fell on the two straining, clutching 
forms. “What’s this!” he cried stopping with 
a start, “a fight? Let go instantly, you ruf¬ 
fians! Here, young man, lend me your wea¬ 
pon that I may force them apart.” 

“No, no, Mr. Adams,” objected John 
strongly. “Pray, let ’em have it out! Give him 
a fair chance.” He moved up to Priscilla’s side 


THE KING’S POWDER 


139 


and whispered eagerly. ‘ 4 Watch him, now! 
See how he does it!” 

“Which one, the one on top!” 

“No, the one underneath—Zeb Giddinge.” 

Zeb was on hands and knees with his head 
down like a bull set for the charge. Hench, 
clutching him with his arms and holding his 
head tight to his opponent’s shoulder, had 
spread his legs to gain fulcrum for a mighty 
swing that should throw Zeb flat on his back. 
In a flash Zeb raised his hands from the 
ground, clasped them behind him over Hench’s 
neck, and lifted himself to his feet; then tak¬ 
ing a single step forward he cast his assailant 
from him as the miller dumps a bag of grain 
into a bin—cast him with such force that the 
thrower himself whirled through the air after 
him and fell on the prostrate man with a thud. 

Priscilla screamed; the parson’s face 
blanched with horror. “You’ve killed him, 
you villain!” he said solemnly as Zeb, having 
risen to his feet, stood looking ruefully down 
at the motionless form in the snow. 

“Hench brought it on himself,” cried John, 
rushing to his friend’s defense. “He jumped 
on Zeb’s back from behind. I saw him do it.” 


140 


THE KING’S POWDER 


Zeb had stooped to listen at Hench’s heart. 
He rose now with a grin. “His heart beats 
pretty strong for a dead man,” he said. 
“Let’s carry him into the house.” 

Whereupon he gathered up his aforetime 
antagonist, as an elder brother throws over his 
shoulder the small boy of the family. Follow¬ 
ing Mr. Spencer and followed by the minister, 
Priscilla, and John, he carried his burden into 
the house and deposited it, now revived to the 
point of groaning, upon the long settle in the 
kitchen. A whiff from a bottle of salts pro¬ 
duced by Mrs. Spencer set Hench astir and a 
few teaspoonfuls of brandy, Martha’s sover¬ 
eign remedy, completely restored him. Sitting 
up, he looked about him bewildered, and fin¬ 
gered his right wrist. 

“What’s the matter with my arm!” he mut¬ 
tered. 

“You must have fell on it,” said Zeb. 
“ ’Twas no proper place for a ’rastle.” 

“Nor occasion,” said the minister. “Let 
this be a lesson to you, William Hench, and 
amend your ways before it is too late.” 

Bill muttered something about preaching out 
of meeting, and got upon his feet. Support- 


THE KING’S POWDER 


141 


ing himself by the arm of the settle, he leered 
sheepishly about. 

4 ‘Mayhap this be what ye are looking for,” 
said Martha, with sarcasm, coming forward 
with a paper in her hand. “I picked it up on 
the porch.” 

Bill shook his head. “My cap.” 

Mr. Adams took the troublemaking docu¬ 
ment from Martha’s hand, while John and Pris¬ 
cilla went forth with a lantern to hunt for the 
cap. They found it close by the steps where 
Hench had been thrown into the crowd. 

“I did some good, anyway,” said Priscilla, 
giving her companion a sly look that was lost 
in the obscurity. “We had been down to the 
Hollow to carry Widow Beckett some black¬ 
berry cordial. I persuaded Father to come 
back this way.” 

“You saved the day,” returned John with 
enthusiasm, “you and Zeb. You ought to have 
seen him toss Hench off the porch!” 

Priscilla shuddered. “I saw enough! I 
don’t like him, he’s too big and dreadful. How 
came he here?” 

John laughed. “Just turned up as he al¬ 
ways does. He’s sleeping to-night at Alexan- 


142 


THE KING’S POWDER 


der Scammell’s and came over to pay a visit. 
Funny visit, wasn’t it?” 

tSo they chattered away over the lantern, ig¬ 
noring the fact that the object of their search 
had been attained, as well as the more personal 
fact that each had thought very ill of the other 
during the past week. Interruption came at 
length in the appearance of the minister at the 
door. Behind him walked Zeb supporting Bill 
Hench, a wabbly and unheroic figure. 

“We’ve found it, Father,” cried Priscilla, 
pointing to the cap as if it had that moment 
been discovered—a circumstance quite in har¬ 
mony with the theory that girls are more adroit 
than boys, for John, who was standing beside 
the lantern, made no move. Zeb picked up the 
cap and clapped it on its owner’s head. 

“Give me the lantern, John,” commanded 
the minister. “Come with me, Priscilla, we 
will light this misguided man to his door, though 
it be an attention which he ill deserves. Good¬ 
night, my friends! An unpleasant experience 
for us all, but one that hath its lessons for him 
who would learn. —You have had a nar¬ 
row escape from death, William Hench. By 
the mercy of Providence you are safe and un- 


THE KING’S POWDER 


143 


harmed except for this sprain which should re¬ 
mind you for some time to come that a good 
cause is not to be advanced by brawling or 
threatening inoffensive citizens.’’ 

Mr. and Mrs. Spencer had gone in, but John 
remained some time on the porch, watching the 
lantern twinkle down to the gate and out along 
the fence, and hearing the hum of the parson’s 
voice long after the phrases of pastoral re¬ 
proof had ceased to be intelligible. When he 
returned to the living room he found his mother 
sitting before the neglected fire. She turned 
her face away as she heard his step, but he 
could see from the movement of her shoulders 
that she was sobbing. Gideon Spencer was 
pacing to and fro beyond the round-topped 
table in the center of the room, flirting the 
tails of his blue coat as he swung on his heel 
at the end of his beat. The calmness which he 
had shown in the presence of the rioters had 
vanished. 

4 ‘Boy! ” he called sharply. ‘ ‘ Who sent these 
ruflSans here? Who concocted that insulting 
paper?” 

‘ 6 They came of themselves, sir. I think they 
got up the paper themselves, too. It sounds 


144 


THE KING’S POWDER 


like Dowd. I am sure men like Major Sullivan 
knew nothing of it. You heard what Mr. 
Adams had to say. ’ ’ 

‘ 4 And I am grateful to him as well as to your 
valiant friend Zeb, ’’ returned the father. ‘ 4 His 
was a succor in time of need. Now when you 
see Major Sullivan to-morrow I want you to 
assure him that while I hold him wrong in the 
course his party is pursuing and cannot see 
how it can fail to result in ruin for the colony, 
I will never, in word or deed, openly or se¬ 
cretly, aid those whom my fellow countrymen 
regard as enemies. I am a Tory but not a 
traitor. I am willing to say this to a gentle¬ 
man like him, though I refuse to own myself 
answerable to the rabble.” 

It flashed through the boy’s weary mind that 
his father’s action in expelling him from home 
for adopting the patriot cause was hardly con¬ 
sistent with this declaration; but he was sick 
of argument and family strife. 

“I may not see him,” he said. “If I don’t 
find him in his office to-morrow morning, I shall 
go on to Portsmouth.” 

Mr. Spencer checked his step in front of his 
son’s chair. “You’re not going to Ports- 


THE KING’S POWDER 


145 


mouth!” he exclaimed with a brusqueness that 
did not hide his emotion. “You’re going to 
stay right here with your mother and me.” 

John looked up with a stare of bewilder¬ 
ment. “But you said—” 

“I know what I said,” cut in his father, “but 
I withdraw that. Since our adventure this 
evening I have discovered that I am very much 
averse to parting with you. Besides, ’t is not 
my way of business to desert those who have 
stood by me.” 

John’s eyes grew bright. He threw a glance 
at his mother’s happy, tear-stained face, now 
turned full upon him; then he looked again to¬ 
ward his unusually talkative sire, and wondered 
whether he could have understood aright. 

“But I must keep on as I have started,” he 
said, in a low voice. “I should want to join 
the company if I stayed.” 

“Join what you will,” answered Mr. Spencer 
quickly, “only let me hear no more about it. 
Heaven knows I have no right to expect, when 
every grown man around me is bereft of reason, 
that a boy shall keep his sanity. But don’t 
talk politics here, and don’t expect me to yield 
another step. And now to bed!” 
















PART TWO 


HOW IT WAS KEPT 













CHAPTER I 


Two days later came news that the Canceau 
and the Scarborough, His Majesty’s ships-of- 
war, had arrived in Portsmouth, bringing re¬ 
lief to the perplexed and helpless governor. 
The British soldiers removed the larger guns 
from Fort William and Mary and the fort was 
abandoned. The captain cruised in and out of 
the harbor, searched incoming vessels for mu¬ 
nitions of war, requisitioned supplies in town, 
and by interference with the commerce of the 
port, especially with the fishing industry, fanned 
the fires of revolt. 

It soon became apparent that the British tars 
dared not leave their ships and that General 
Gage had his hands too full in Boston to per¬ 
mit the detachment of troops to save the dig¬ 
nity of his brother governor across the Mer- 
rimac. The patriots of Durham, finding that 
for the present they were safe from visitation, 
became less anxious about the military stores 

149 


150 


THE KING’S POWDER 


entrusted to their care. In fact, whether they 
knew it or not, they were gradually being re¬ 
lieved of their trust. Some of the muskets 
taken from the fort were repaired by the vil¬ 
lage locksmith, and handed over to the com¬ 
pany; John Spencer carried one when he 
trained thrice weekly on the village green. 
Others were passed along to make good the 
needs of neighboring communities. Much of 
the powder also was scattered inland when 
town after town at the threat of war clamored 
for a supply. As each colony, frightened at its 
lack of this most needful substance, held ten¬ 
aciously to its own small store and besought aid 
from its supposedly better supplied neighbors, 
so each community hoarded and begged. Dea¬ 
con Thompson’s stock was taken from him by 
order of the president of the congress sitting in 
Exeter; John DeMerritt was forced to part 
with most of his. But twenty barrels still re¬ 
mained under the meeting-house, secluded in a 
new hiding-place beneath the floor. In the pul¬ 
pit above, Parson Adams declaimed fearlessly 
every Sunday on the right of all men to liberty, 
and the promises that God would succor those 
who put their trust in Him. Only four men in 


THE KING’S POWDER 


151 


Durham knew where the powder lay, and John 
Spencer counted among the four. 

That General Gage in Boston should be 
deeply stirred by the seizure of the powder at 
Fort William and Mary was to be expected. 
Though Portsmouth lay outside his jurisdic¬ 
tion, the open insult to the royal flag in New 
Hampshire was a challenge to rebellious spirits 
in Massachusetts. If his hands had been free, 
he would have been glad to send a punitive ex¬ 
pedition to avenge the affront to the King’s 
authority. He was barred from this course, 
both by lack of available troops and by the 
character of his instructions from the Ministry, 
which were to conciliate and not provoke. Yet 
it was clearly his duty to see that the disaf¬ 
fected, whether in Massachusetts or in New 
Hampshire, should be cut off from all access to 
ammunition, without which, in case rebellion 
broke out, effective action on the part of the 
rebels would be impossible from the start. If 
he could not act directly to punish those con¬ 
cerned in the treasonable raid, it might still be 
possible by indirect methods to recover the 
powder or destroy it if it was beyond recov¬ 
ery. 


152 


THE KING’S POWDER 


Admiral Graves, with whom he took counsel 
in the emergency, suggested Captain Mo watt, 
of the sloop-of-war Canceau, as an ambitious 
officer likely to prove efficient in carrying on a 
secret enterprise. In consequence, General 
Gage sent to Captain Mowatt, through the Ad¬ 
miral, instructions to make every effort to re¬ 
cover the lost powder. 


“Use any means available to ferret out the 
hiding-place ,’ r he wrote in his dispatch, “and 
when you have found it, destroy the powder if 
you cannot safely bring it away. It must not 
be left in the rascals’ hands. The bearer will 
deliver to you one hundred pounds, to be em¬ 
ployed in accordance with these instructions. 
I have written Governor Wentworth that I 
can spare no soldiers, and he is helpless with¬ 
out them. You have your marines, and Ad¬ 
miral Graves will give orders that will enable 
you to borrow more from the Scarborough. 
Avoid a public encounter that may become 
notorious. Seek if possible to come quietly 
by a knowledge of the storage places, and 
then destroy or remove the powder secretly. 
Trust not over much to the information in the 
possession of the Governor and his Council. 
They are not as likely to have tidings as some 
less active friend, and there are doubtless spies 
in their household. Nathaniel Sparhawk of 
Kittery is spoken well of as reliable and faith¬ 
ful. He hath done naught to attract the notice 


THE KING’S POWDER 


153 


of the factious. It may be well to take counsel 
with him. More money will be forthcoming if 
needed, but a little well distributed will go far 
among the canaille. Use discretion and dili¬ 
gence/ J 

Captain Mowatt muttered wrathful disap¬ 
proval as he read and reread the orders trans¬ 
mitted to him through Admiral Graves. He 
was a man of thirty, unmarried, eager for pro¬ 
motion but with no influential connections to 
push his fortune, now enjoying his first com¬ 
mand. Like the majority of his fellow officers, 
he believed in the policy of direct action. If 
he had his way with these persistent praters 
about liberty who were incapable of appreciat¬ 
ing the benevolent measures of the home gov¬ 
ernment, he would level their seaports with the 
ship’s guns, seize and hang the ringleaders, 
and let the rabble starve in the ruins until they 
understood whose hands held the power. A 
few stern examples would be sufficient to bring 
the malcontents to submission. Yet the min¬ 
istry backed and filled and let the evil grow. 
Impatient as he felt over this foolish commis¬ 
sion to work with hired spies against a lot of 
rebels who could only be daunted by fire and 
sword, he soon came to see that here perhaps 


154 


THE KING’S POWDER 


lay an opportunity to advance his fortunes. 
The very fact that the task had been given to 
him and not to his senior, Captain Berkeley of 
the Scarborough, implied that his abilities were 
recognized. 

The Scarborough lay at anchor off the 
stripped fort a few cable-lengths away. Cap¬ 
tain Mowatt’s first duty was to communicate 
his instructions to Captain Berkeley. As he 
climbed up the ladder lowered for him from the 
deck of the Scarborough, he had already de¬ 
cided on the course he would pursue. The com¬ 
mission was his, and the glory of the achieve¬ 
ment must be his alone; his senior must be 
cajoled and made to cooperate but not admitted 
to full partnership in the enterprise. 

In the captain’s cabin while the commander 
of the Scarborough read slowly and thought¬ 
fully the instructions sent by General Gage, 
Mowa.tt studied the wrinkled face of the old 
officer and felt his resolution strengthen. Here 
was a man grown gray in the service, an able 
navigator, veteran of many battles, capable, 
brave. He had been a captain for twenty years 
and would leave the service with no higher 
grade. Men of lesser ability but with influen- 


THE KING’S POWDER 


155 


tial friends in the admiralty or the ministry, 
who knew how to get themselves noticed, had 
one by one pushed ahead of him to the com¬ 
mand of squadrons or fleets. These men, 
Mowatt resolved, not Berkeley, should be his 
pattern. 

“I wish you luck,” said Captain Berkeley 
with a smile. “I shall doubtless soon have in¬ 
structions to cooperate. In the meantime let 
me help you as I can.” 

“I don’t know how you can help me yet,” 
answered Mowatt modestly. 4 4 ’Tis a new trick 
for me. I can’t say that I like the job.” 

4 4 The task will be difficult. All the more 
credit to you, if you succeed.” 

4 4 The powder was taken to the village of 
Durham, was it not?” 

44 It was taken there, yes; whether it is still 
there is a question.” 

4 4 They would scarce have scattered it. It 
would be of little use to them if distributed 
among the villages*. If it is to be available 
against the King’s forces, it would need to be 
held somewhere in sufficient quantity to supply a 
body of troops. These people are dolts, but 
they must know that much.” 


156 


THE KING’S POWDER 


Captain Berkeley’s lips parted as if to an¬ 
swer, but whatever he was about to say, he sup¬ 
pressed. 

“Do you know where this Nathaniel Spar- 
hawk lives?” 

“Yes, on Kittery Point in a large yellow 
gambrel-roofed house not far from the Pep¬ 
pered mansion.” 

Mowatt grew thoughtful. “Has this Nath¬ 
aniel a pretty daughter named Mary?” 

Berkeley smiled broadly. “I believe so. I 
know the father but not the daughter; ’tis plain 
you know the daughter but not the father. 
You have the advantage of me, if all I hear 
about her charms be true.” 

“I met her at a ball in Portsmouth when we 
were stationed here last year. She told me she 
lived near the Pepperell mansion. I think I 
can find the house.” 

“Let me advise you to pay your visit with 
some secrecy. Loyalists are objects of suspic¬ 
ion these days. They find it prudent to avoid 
the appearance of friendship with us—en¬ 
emies. ’’ 

“If they would show a dttle more courage, 
we shouldn’t be in the position of enemies,” 


THE KING’S POWDER 


157 


said Mowatt sharply. ‘ ‘ There are enough true 
men, if they would but assert themselves, to 
hold the rabble in check. As long as the gentry 
remain silent, apparently afraid to speak, the 
common people hear only one side, and they 
are so ignorant that they would believe any¬ 
thing. This whole trouble is due to the law¬ 
yers, the smugglers, and the illicit traders. 
I’d like to see every agitator seized and half of 
them hanged to the yard-arm after a fleet trial. 
The balance we would hold as hostages for the 
orderly behavior of the people ashore.” 

“And how would you seize them? The gov¬ 
ernor has an army of five men, with twenty- 
five or thirty gentlemen under obligation to 
him who have agreed to protect him but who 
cannot be counted on. That’s the whole force 
available in the province. I have my ship’s 
company of a hundred and sixty and you your 
' ; nety. In addition, there are fifty marines 
rivided between us. They could gather hun¬ 
dreds against us in a day. The very knaves 
&ho took the powder strut about Portsmouth 
unmolested. The governor cannot touch them. ’ ’ 

“He could, with our assistance.” 

Captain Berkeley shook his head: “We 


158 


THE KING’S POWDER 


should rouse the whole country if we tried it. 
Besides, we have our orders/’ 

Mowatt made a gesture of impatience. 
4 ‘Those orders! All we may do is to cruise in 
and out and beg for water and fresh beef. ’Tis 
no way to treat rebels in my opinion. Have you 
a list of the pirates who plundered the fort?” 

“My secretary has it.” Berkeley rang for 
his cabin boy, and directed that the secretary be 
summoned. A tall, haggard young man, in an 
unkempt wig and spotted silk waistcoat, ap¬ 
peared at the cabin door and bowed obsequi¬ 
ously. His character was obvious at a glance 
—a dependent of some noble lord, a burden at 
home through laziness or vice, and therefore 
saddled on the captain of the Scarborough 
through the influence of some chief in the ad¬ 
miralty. The strong smell of rum which he 
brought with him suggested one at least of his 
vices. 

“Rutherford,” said Captain Berkeley, “Ho^ 
long will it take you to transcribe the list of 
names which I brought back yesterday from 
Governor Wentworth?” 

“Which list do you refer to, sir?” returned 
Rutherford unsteadily. 


THE KING’S POWDER 


159 


“I gave yon but one list yesterday, the list 
of those provincials who took part in the raid 
on Fort William and Mary.” 

“Ah, that list, sir!” The secretary winked 
fast and tried to remember where he had put 
it. “It—it is a long list, fourscore at least, 
sir,—ah—with residences, sir, and descriptions. 
I—I might have it ready by sundown. ’Twill 
take several hours to copy it.” 

“Send it over to me when it is ready, if you 
will be so good, Captain Berkeley,” said Mow- 
att. 

The captain turned to his secretary. “Pre¬ 
pare a clean copy as soon as possible, Mr. 
Rutherford;. That is all.” 

The secretary bowed again and departed. 
“Belike he has lost it,” grumbled Berkeley as 
the door closed. “My papers are never in 
order. The ne’er-do-weel second-cousin of 
Lord Kensington, and therefore a suitable ap¬ 
pointment as captain’s secretary on His Ma¬ 
jesty’s brig Scarborough! They say he is a 
great public-house warrior, and very clever 
when he is drunk or when he is sober, but I 
have never found out which—perhaps because 
\ have never seen him all sober or all drunk. 


160 


THE KING’S POWDER 


He is ever betwixt and between. Well, how 
else can I serve you ? ’ ’ 

“In nothing now, thank you. I must have 
time to think the whole matter over before I 
take any steps. By the way, it is strange what 
bad luck we have both had in the matter of 
secretaries. Mine is a snivelling schoolmaster 
fellow, who looks like a boarding-school usher 
discharged because he allowed the boys to 
throw him out o’ window. He is as accur¬ 
ate and careful about everything he does 
as if he were the Lord Chancellor sitting in 
judgment. When he stands at my elbow with 
the sand-box in his hands suggesting this word 
or that, or stops me after dinner, just as I am 
starting in a little game with the surgeon, to 
tell me of some ridiculous trifle or other in the 
log-book that hasn’t been brought up to the 
minute, I’m tempted to order him hove over 
the side. I haven’t done it yet, but I may any 
day. I’d rather see him drunk occasionally.” 
“We might exchange.” 

‘ i Gad! Why not! The admiral would make 
no objection if we both joined in the request. 
If you want order and correctness, my usher 
would suit you perfectly. Oblige me by send r - 


THE KING’S POWDER 


161 


ing your man over when he has the list ready, 
and let me talk with him. I may he able to rid 
you of him’.” 

Captain Mowatt, descending to his gig, or¬ 
dered the sailors to cast off and give way for 
the sloop. His thoughts during the short 
transit were busy reviewing the conversation 
just ended. Berkeley certainly had given him 
no encouragement, hut what could one expect 
from an elderly man, in whom ambition and the 
spirit of enterprise had been killed by the dis¬ 
appointments of his career! The dunderhead 
did not even perceive the opportunity to ad¬ 
vance his interests furnished by the presence in 
his ship of the relative of a Lord of the Admir¬ 
alty. Wisely managed and rewarded, the secre¬ 
tary might be made to write such glowing eulo¬ 
gies of his commander that the noble lord must 
inevitably interest himself in the advancement 
of a meritorious officer. The chance that Berk¬ 
eley threw away, he, Mowatt, would seize and 
turn to his profit. The exchange of secretaries 
would be for him a bargain loaded with gain 
at both ends; he would rid himself of something 
wholly undesirable, to wit, the nagging Simp- 
ton, and win a lever to raise his own fortunes. 


162 


THE KING’S POWDER 


Besides, Rutherford might help in carrying out 
the instructions from General Gage. If half 
the stories current in the fleet were true, the 
fellow had been concerned in more than one 
wild escapade which showed that he possessed 
at least the virtues of reckless daring and skill 
with weapons. 

Towards evening a jolly-boat from the Scar¬ 
borough put Rutherford on board the Can- 
ceau. Captain Mowatt had him sent aft to his 
cabin where he welcomed him cordially and 
ordered the steward to bring a bottle of 
wine and glasses. This unexpected attention 
warned the visitor that something was in pros¬ 
pect not included in his captain’s orders, and 
caused him to drink sparingly. 

“Now, Rutherford,” began Mowatt after the 
list had been examined and explained, “I want 
to ask you a, few direct questions. It is to your 
own interest that you answer them frankly. 
First, do you get on with your captain?” 

Rutherford’s surprise did not appear in the 
expression of his face. He looked for an in¬ 
stant hard at his questioner, then half turned 
in his chair so as to command the steward’s 
entrance. 


THE KING’S POWDER 


163 


4 ‘ Good!’ ’ thought Mowatt. “ He’s naturally 
cautious when he is sober. I wonder how it 
is when he is drunk.” Aloud, he said as he 
rose. “Come into my stateroom.” 

Behind the closed door the question was re¬ 
peated. 

“ No, ” answered Rutherford. ‘ ‘ He is not my 
kind.” 

“What is the matter?” 

“lie's not a gentleman born and he doesn’t 
understand a gentleman. He’s as fussy as an 
old woman. ’ ’ 

“Wants his work done right, eh?” 

“Wants it done his way and in his time. He 
is just, after his own fashion, but he’s plebeian, 
and can’t understand the spirit of a man of 
my connections temporarily down on his luck. ’ ’ 

“I don’t suppose you like your berth, then.” 

“Faith, no, hut necessity knows no law. 
My cousin pitched me into the job and I’ve got 
to hold on till he can be persuaded to take me 
out.” 

“You have money?” 

“Not a stiver. I wouldn’t be here if I had. 
You see, it was a question of a little debt, and 
rather than pay it for me at his own cost or 


164 


THE KING’S POWDER 


leave me in jail, lie shipped me off here at the 
cost of His Majesty.” 

“You can shoot ?’ 7 

“Yes, and use a sword. I”—he hesitated. 
“I was once in the army.” 

Captain Mowatt did not ask how he came to 
leave the army. It was but too evident that 
Rutherford would have appended an explana¬ 
tion if the explanation had been creditable. 
Without more words Mowatt drew from his 
pocket the order from General Gage and handed 
it to his visitor. 

Rutherford read it slowly and passed it back, 
saying, “Rather a large order, sir.” 

“Yes, hut there’s chance for credit if I suc¬ 
ceed. Also a chance for gain to the man who 
helps me.” 

“How so?” 

Mowatt smiled. “First, money; second, 
commendations from the admiral that couldn’t 
be lost on the way to the admiralty; third, and 
in consequence, recall to a better position and 
an opportunity to see the old world again, and 
enjoy its good things once more!” 

Rutherford’s eyes glistened. “And you 
mean me?” 


THE KING’S POWDER 


165 


“Yes. If you can perform the service. I 
can’t have a drunkard mixed up with this deli¬ 
cate business. You’ll have to keep away from 
the bottle.” 

“Oh, I don’t have to drink. The life on 
that beastly scow is so dull and servile that I 
drink just to forget it for a while. But what 
do you get out of this?” 

“Help of a clever fellow in carrying out my 
plans, and a good word for me spoken rather 
often to his lordship your cousin.” 

Rutherford had it on the tip of his tongue 
to say that no commendation from him could 
help a man with his cousin and that the most 
welcome communication his Lordship could 
receive would be the one that contained news 
of his relative’s demise. He did not say this, 
however, for it evidently would not help his 
prospects to have the fact divulged. Instead 
he bowed with a knowing look and waited. 

“I have proposed to Captain Berkeley to 
take you as my secretary in exchange for 
•Skupton. Whether we make the exchange 
depends on you. If you want to join me as 
my subordinate in the venture I have embarked 
on, with the promise of extra pay for extra 


166 


THE KING’S POWDER 


services and a share in the honors of success, 
I’ll enroll you now. Five pounds down to 
bind the bargain, and extra pay in proportion 
to services rendered. Do you want time to 
consider 

“I accept now. Favor me with the five 
pounds / 9 

“Not yet. Return to the brig and pack up 
your dunnage. I’ll send Skupton over in half 
an hour in the jolly-boat which will bring you 
back. ’ ’ 

Mowatt rang for the steward and ordered a 
midshipman to have the jolly-boat manned, 
while he wrote a short note to Captain Berk¬ 
eley. A few minutes later Rutherford was 
on his way back to the Scarborough, while 
Skupton was engaged in arranging his few be¬ 
longings in convenient form for transporta¬ 
tion, divided in spirit between indignation at 
being indecorously hustled out of the ship, 
and relief at the prospect of quitting an un¬ 
congenial berth. 


CHAPTER II 


Later in the day Captain Mowatt had him¬ 
self rowed across the river to Warehouse 
Wharf on Kittery Point, only a short distance 
from the moorings of the Canceau. There 
was no mistaking the tine gambrel-roofed 
mansion rising in the van of outbuildings and 
barns at the end of an avenue of elms close to 
a small arm of the sea. It lay across the 
point from the harbor side, opposite the 
shipping offices and warehouses where the 
Pepperell and Sparhawk trading vessels, in 
the days of the commercial activity of the 
port, began and ended their long voyages. 

Sir William Pepper ell had been the most 
active and the richest merchant in the whole 
region of northern New England. His lands 
extended from the Piscataqua to the banks 
of the Saco, an unbroken strip of forest 
and field, ten miles deep and full thirty miles 
in length. His tenants paid rent for houses 

in Portsmouth and Kittery and fertile farms 

167 


168 


THE KING’S POWDER 


in the clearings. Gangs of lumbermen oper¬ 
ated in his immense woods of old-growth pine 
and spruce. His fishing fleet on the Banks 
numbered two hundred sail. His ship-carpen¬ 
ters wrought him vessels and his sailors car¬ 
ried the products of farm and forest and fish¬ 
eries across the sea. Big business man of pro¬ 
vincial days, he had no son to inherit and 
carry on his great enterprises. 1 His only 
daughter had married Nathaniel Sparhawk, 
merchant. She and her children succeeded to 
the great estate when the provincial magnate 
died in 1759. Since then colonial shipping had 
fallen on adverse days, but the family still re¬ 
mained rich and of high importance in the 
district. 

The negro house servant, Salem, answered 

Captain Mowatt’s lift of the huge brass door- 

« 

i Sir William Pepperell, having lost hia son, made his 
grandson, William Pepperell Sparhawk, his chief heir and 
the successor to his title, on condition that he drop the name 
of Sparhawk and become William Pepperell. The second Sir 
William Pepperell was thus a son of Nathaniel and Elizabeth 
(Pepperell) Sparhawk. On account of his loyalist opinions, 
he was banished from the colonies, the great estate which he 
had inherited from his grandfather being confiscated by Mas¬ 
sachusetts. 


THE KING’S POWDER 


169 


knocked. Though lacking the splendor of 
his naval uniform, the captain was a present¬ 
able figure, tall, clean-shaven, with the self-pos¬ 
session and assurance bred of years of harsh 
dominion over inferiors. If his face was 
hard, as might have been expected from the 
brutal routine of his calling and the excesses 
of his leisure hours, its expression confirmed 
Salem’s guess that here was a person of im¬ 
portance, to whom deference should be shown. 
He bowed low in answer to the captain’s ques¬ 
tion. 

“Yes, sah, de kunnel am at home, sah. Will 
yore excellency be pleased to give me yore 
name, sah?” 

“Never mind the name. Tell your master 
that a gentleman would speak to him on im¬ 
portant business.” 

Salem left the visitor in the wide, white 
wainscoted hall, a marvel of colonial joiner’s 
work, while he departed to notify the master 
of the house. He was back in the briefest in¬ 
terval, however, and smiling and scraping, 
opened for the captain the door on the left of 
the staircase and stood bowing beside it while 
the visitor entered. 


170 


THE KING’S POWDER 


Colonel Sparhawk rose from the table at 
which he had been writing, and stood erect, 
facing, with a native dignity that hid any 
curiosity he might have felt, the unknown 
caller. 

“ Colonel Sparhawk, I am Captain Mowatt 
of His Majesty’s sloop-of-war Canceau, now 
anchored in the lower harbor. I have come 
to consult you at the suggestion of Admiral 
Graves on a matter of concern to all good 
friends of the King.” Mowatt spoke rapidly, 
like the blunt honest King’s officer that he 
considered himself to be. 

Colonel Sparhawk gazed without reply for 
a few seconds at the determined face before 
him, as if he were weighing the sharply 
spoken words and preparing for possibly un¬ 
pleasant revelations. Then he left the table, 
and indicating a comfortable Windsor chair 
before the great fireplace, said in a slow formal 
fashion that suited well his years and dignity, 
“Pray be seated, Captain Mowatt. You will 
find the fire grateful after your cold traverse 
of the harbor. And how can my poor counsel 
serve you?” 

The captain flung back the cloak from his 


THE KING’S POWDER 


171 


shoulders, and thrusting his hand into his bosom 
beneath his plain dark waistcoat, drew forth a 
paper. As he did so, he lifted his eyes to the 
Colonel’s face and noted the direction of the 
provincial’s gaze and the doubt revealed in his 
expression. 

4 ‘At the suggestion of Captain Berkeley I left 
my uniform on shipboard,” he said, in a tone 
that indicated that he grudged the explanation. 
“He seemed to think it better that my visit 
should be private.” 

“Very considerate of him, I am sure. The 
feeling is strong hereabouts since the food 
schooners were seized.” 

“We obey orders and enforce the laws of 
Parliament. It would be well for the colonial 
ports if their magistrates did the same. Oblige 
me by reading these instructions which I have 
received through Admiral Graves. ’ ’ 

Colonel Sparhawk was a deliberate gentle¬ 
man. He had first to find and adjust his horn 
spectacles. Then, going close to one of the 
small-paned windows, where the weak winter 
light was most effective, he slowly read the 
dispatch through, and turning back to the be¬ 
ginning, reread. This maneuver gave him 


172 


THE KING’S POWDER 


time to consider his course, but to the impatient 
captain the delay was only another example 
of the dullness of the provincial intelligence. 

44 Thank you, Captain Mowatt,” said the 
Colonel, as he handed back the document. “I 
fear I can be of little service to you. I am sure 
that none of the powder came to Kittery. It 
seems to have been carried up the river.’’ 

“Yes, to Durham. We know that. We also 
know pretty well who were in the party. What 
we must discover is what became of it after it 
was landed in Durham. ’ ’ 

“My sons reported that it had been distri¬ 
buted among the inland towns. As the seizure 
was outside the limits of this district of Maine 
and did not concern us here, I made no inquir¬ 
ies.” 

“The facts can be discovered in Durham. 
Could you not visit the place and get informa¬ 
tion from loyal friends?” 

“You forget that I am an old man, Captain 
Mowatt, and not in the firmest health. In this 
inclement season, I am forced, though against 
my will, to avoid exposure.” 

“But your sons?” 

“They are not here, in fact, under present 


THE KING’S POWDER 


173 


conditions, I feel that they are safer elsewhere. 
In any case, being well-known loyalists, they 
could obtain no information in Durham, and 
an attempt to do so might draw upon us the 
active enmity of the ill-disposed. I take it 
that it is no part of your instructions to pro¬ 
tect the persons and property of the loyal gen¬ 
try on this Point from violence by the mob. ,, 

Mowatt leaped to his feet. “No, we can do 
nothing but capture smugglers,” he declared 
bitterly, “and hold the prating rabble beyond 
the reach of our guns. If I had my way, I’d 
demand the return of the powder within three 
days, and if it were not delivered at the end of 
that time, lay Portsmouth in ashes!” 

“And thereby ruin the King’s friends as well 
as his enemies,” said the Colonel quietly. “Do 
you think such a course would help to bring 
about reconciliation ? ’ ’ 

“There can be no reconciliation until the 
rebels are taught that they cannot flout the 
orders of King and Parliament!” The cap¬ 
tain took a turn across the room. “Then what 
in your opinion is to be done?” he asked, in 
calmer tones. 

‘ 1 Concerning the powder ? ’ ’ 


174 


THE KING’S POWDER 


“ Yes.” 

“Forget that it was ever taken. What are 
a few barrels of gunpowder scattered in a 
dozen towns ?” 

“But my orders?” 

Colonel Sparhawk hesitated. “That is a 
matter on which I can scarcely be expected to 
give an opinion. To me the orders seem im¬ 
possible of execution. But, as I have said, I 
am an old man, badly shaken by the unhappy 
turn affairs have taken, and naturally averse 
to doubtful ventures. I prefer not to advise.” 

The scowl deepened on the captain’s face. 
He said nothing, for he did not trust himself 
to speak, but his contempt for the cowardice of 
these pretended friends of the king surged to 
his very lips. The Colonel saw and understood. 

“I am sorry to prove such a broken reed,” 
he said pleasantly. “The counsel of elderly 
men is much overvalued; in times of stress like 
the present it is almost worthless. Let us 
change the subject for one in which both old 
and young may find their ideas harmonized. 
You must drink a glass of wine with me be¬ 
fore you go.” He rang the bell on his table. 

‘ ‘ Salem, ’ 9 he said, when the servant appeared. 


THE KING’S POWDER 


175 


“ bring a bottle of madeira from the farther bin, 
and glasses. And on your way, beg Miss Mary 
to wait upon us here— Madam Sparhawk is 
indisposed to-day, but my daughter will do the 
honors of the house. I think I have heard of 
her meeting you at one of the Governor’s routs, 
though you would doubtless not recall one face 
among a bevy of ladies met on such an occa¬ 
sion. ’ y 

Captain Mowatt bowed, now master of his 
resentment, and quite willing to show that he 
possessed the social address as well as the 
sterner virtues of a royal officer. “I shall be 
greatly honored if she remembers me,” he de¬ 
clared. “No one who has once looked upon 
the countenance of Mistress Sparhawk can for¬ 
get it.” 

Miss Mary appeared presently in the door¬ 
way, a slender, graceful figure, dressed in a 
simple house-gown of brown with a dainty 
white kerchief of fine linen about her throat. 
Her face was one of frail and delicate beauty. 
Thick brown hair drawn back from her forehead 
under a gauze cap and rolled in heavy, wavy 
strands over the tips of her ears, artlessly im¬ 
pressive in its dark masses, and free from the 



176 


THE KING’S POWDER 


disfigurement of powder and cushions that were 
heaped upon the head for occasions of high 
dress, made striking contrast to the whiteness 
of her skin. A slight flush tinted her cheeks 
as she came forward and curtseyed to the visi¬ 
tor. 

“Captain Mowatt! How unexpected to see 
you again! You will have to pretend to rec¬ 
ognize me in my father’s house, even though 
you would not know me from Eve anywhere 
else.” 

“Miss Sparhawk is not so easily forgotten,” 
answered the captain gallantly, as he bowed 
over her hand in the fashion he had learned by 
watching noble courtiers from the gallery at 
great balls. “As for me, I feel honored that 
she recognizes me without my uniform.” 

“The civilian dress is indeed somewhat of 
a disguise.” 

“I come incognito, so to speak, to consult 
your father.” 

“Then I hope he has given you good advice,” 
said Mistress Mary, with a disarming smile, 
“—to let the poor fishermen go on with their 
trade, and not to bother overmuch about stray 


THE KING’S POWDER 


177 


coasting schooners that happen into the har¬ 
bor.” 

“Such would be my pleasure, if it is your 
wish, but we poor sailors are merely instru¬ 
ments to execute orders. We are allowed no 
discretion.” 

“But can you not sometimes turn your glance 
aside ?” 

“I fear, Miss Sparhawk, that you are a 
Whig!” 

“If I am, it must be because my brothers 
are all such Tories. The house would be dull 
without some variety of opinion! But in con¬ 
fidence I will tell you that I think exactly as 
my father does. I don’t always know what he 
thinks, because he does not tell me, but his 
ideas are mine, whatever they are.” 

“Then my anxiety was without foundation, 
for you must be a very loyal subject of his 
Majesty. As a so-called patriot, you would 
be vastly dangerous.” 

Meantime the bottle had appeared and the 
glasses, and the two chatted cosily and aim¬ 
lessly before the fire, with a remark occasion¬ 
ally interjected by the older man, as he deliber- 


178 


THE KING’S POWDER 


ately sipped his wine. Miss Sparhawk hardly 
touched her glass, but the captain’s was refilled 
more than once. So exhilarating was the effect 
of the generous wine, so bright were the smiles 
of the daughter of the house, that Captain 
Mowatt forgot completely the actual failure of 
his quest. He carried away with him only the 
delightful impression of a charming girl, and of 
a kindly, dignified old man who had shown him 
hospitality. 


CHAPTER III 


Captain Mowatt did not long remain under 
the spell cast by the gentle charm of Mary 
Sparhawk. He had really accomplished noth¬ 
ing by his visit, and the fact, as he dwelt upon 
it, irritated him. i ‘ Curse the cowardice of 
these pretended loyalists!” he muttered, as he 
clothed himself again in his proper officer’s 
garb. “If they are afraid to show their colors, 
I am not afraid to show mine, and I’ll never 
be caught again in the dress of a spy. Make 
your call in secrecy, indeed! Berkeley is an 
old fool.” 

He had Rutherford into his cabin as soon 
as he was ready to receive him, and together 
they held a council of war. Both were of the 
opinion that the next step was to send a spy 
to Durham to gather information. 

“Will you go?” asked the captain. 

“In what character? I should find it dif¬ 
ficult to pass myself off as a demd Yankee, 
and I know nothing #f their petty trading busi¬ 
ness,’ 7 


179 


180 


THE KING’S POWDER 


“True. You’d scarce be able to imitate their 
uncouth ways. I need some one who would 
slip in naturally among them and be like one of 
themselves.” 

“Haven’t you a man in your crew who knows 
the country and the people?” 

“Of course,” answered the captain, moodily. 
“Half my crew is made up of impressed men. 
There are two fishermen we took off that 
smack day before yesterday, but they’d desert 
at the first opportunity, and betray us into the 
bargain. ’ ’ 

“No one else—some fellow picked up on the 
Boston wharves who took the King’s shilling 
because he is safer afloat?” 

“By gad, yes, a boatswain’s mate! We took 
him on in Boston whither he had fled to es¬ 
cape the constables from Plymouth or some 
such place. He’s our man, I verily believe, a 
sly rogue, if I ever saw one.” 

“He could go up the river as a deserter and 
get all the information that’s to be had. When 
do you send ashore for water?” 

The captain’s face darkened. “To-morrow 
morning. It’s the devil’s own job to get sup- 



THE KING’S POWDER 


181 


plies out of these smugglers. Our orders are 
to use no violence, and every man jack of them 
seems to know it. They even refuse us water 
at the wells on the pretence that the supply is 
short. Some day I may lose my patience and 
let the lieutenant shoot a few of them. ,, 

“Why not arrange to send your man in the 
cutter to-morrow and let him escape? That 
will give him a good start-off. The Portsmouth 
rebels can send him on with recommendations 
to their brethren in Durham. ’ ’ 

“Rutherford, you’re as wise as an admiral! 
Go down to the forepeak and tell the boat¬ 
swain to send Rafer aft to my cabin. I’ll see 
him alone.” 

Whatever fears Rafer may have had in his 
heart, on account of past misdeeds, he showed 
no emotion as he obeyed the summons; and 
he was equally indifferent to the questions of 
his messmates on his return. They did not 
press him, for Rafer carried with him an air of 
experience that intimidated. It was remarked 
by one of his watch below, and mentioned 
afterwards, that he spent some time that night 
darning a pair of thick worsted stockings and 


182 


THE KING’S POWDER 


greasing some very heavy shoes that were not 
his usual wear. 

When the cutter got away next morning under 
Lieutenant Hood, Rafer was in the bow. He 
wore a thick jacket and a skin cap pulled down 
to his ears. 

“Rater,” commanded the lieutenant, as he 
ordered his men ashore, “you’re the warmest- 
dressed man in the boat. I give you watch.— 
Double file there, you men! Up kegs! Fol¬ 
low me! ’ ’ 

The sailors grabbed first for the bucket and 
the funnel and those who failed in getting these 
easy burdens—as most of them must—took up 
the kegs and marched away. When they were 
out of sight, Rafer made sure that the boat 
was tied fast to the landing, then picking up 
from the bow a handkerchief bundle which he 
had placed there earlier in the day, walked 
leisurely away in a different direction from 
that which the boat’s crew had taken. He 
must have known the town well, for he passed 
through Market Square without stopping at 
any of the taverns or coffee-houses frequented 
by seamen, and made his way out on the road 
toward Greenland. At the plains on the out- 


THE KING’S POWDER 


183 


skirts of the town was a tavern bearing the 
emblem The Jolly Drover. He entered and 
called for a drink. 

It was not long before he found an audience 
sympathetic to his tale. The escape of a New 
England seaman, impressed from an American 
coasting brig bound from Boston to Charleston, 
was a topic to interest all listeners. They 
buzzed about him with congratulations and of¬ 
fers of drinks. Where was he bound? How 
could they help him? He would be safe enough 
anywhere away from Portsmouth, yes, even 
where he was, unless the whole crew of the 
Canceau came after him. There were invita¬ 
tions to join a (fisherman that sailed out of 
Rye Harbor, to take jobs in the woods in 
half-a-dozen towns near by. Rafer waited un¬ 
til the right suggestion came, an offer from a 
man driving a pair of good horses and a loaded 
sleigh to give him a lift inland toward Notting¬ 
ham. Durham lay on the way. 

There was much opportunity for talk dur¬ 
ing the long, slow journey. The farmer had 
come down the day before with a load of dried 
apples, firkins of butter, and frozen carcasses 
of mutton, which he had exchanged at Ports- 


184 


THE KING’S POWDER 


mouth for salt and dried fish and good money 
into the bargain. He was not at all troubled, 
despite his patriotism, over the fact that some 
of his goods had passed into the hands of buy¬ 
ers for the British ships. “If I don’t supply 
’em, some one else will, and their money will 
do me as much good as anybody,” he explained. 
“I got the top price.” And then he fell to 
asking questions as to where Mullins (such had 
become Rafer’s name) was born, how long he 
had followed the sea, how he had happened to 
get nabbed by the warship, and what he pro¬ 
posed to work at now. To all of which the 
sailor made ready answer, taking care to place 
the scenes of his activity sufficiently remote to 
avoid danger of cross-examination. As to his 
future plans he could make no mistake. There 
was only one occupation open to the laborer in 
the country in winter, work in the woods. He 
hoped to get a little money together by this 
means until he could find an opportunity to 
make his way to Salem where he was confident 
of getting a berth in an American vessel. 

It grew colder when they had passed over 
the ferry at Fox Point and Bafer was thank¬ 
ful for his heavy mittens and the tippet which 


THE KING’S POWDER 


185 


he took out of his packet, as well as for the 
sheepskin which the driver gave him to wrap 
around his legs. The passage over the water 
naturally suggested the river route to Durham 
and the transportation of the gunpowder'. The 
topic was an agreeable one to the farmer who 
boasted of the achievement, magnifying the 
booty by a hundred barrels. 

“And what became of it?” asked Rafer. 
“Is it in Durham still?” 

“I dunno ’bout that. Some of it ain’t, 
’cause we’ve got one barrel in our town, and 
some went up t’ Exeter. They do tell that 
John DeMerritt, to Madbury, has some in his 
cellar.” 

“Ain’t he af eared the Britishers’ll come and 
take it away from him?” 

“Naw, they bain’t cornin’ that far with¬ 
out a lot of troops, and by the time the Red¬ 
coats got there, the’ wouldn’t be many on ’em 
left. Besides, John, he’s a fighter. He’d blow 
up the whole lot and his house along with ’em 
afore he’d let ’em take it.” 

“Well, there’s what’s left in Durham.” 

“Yes, the’s some in Durham, all right, but 
nobody seems to know where ’t is. Least- 


186 


THE KING’S POWDER 


wise, Fve never run aerost any one that does. 
I guess Major Sullivan, and Parson Adams, 
and Deacon Thompson can find it when it’s 
needed, but they ain’t talkin’ ’bout it in the 
tavern. I give a lift to a feller to Durham 
when I was cornin’ down, same as I’m doin’ 
for you, and he made out that a boy by the 
name of Spencer knew where it was, too. This 
chap’s name is Hank Bean, a blow-hard and 
poor enough stick at work. He had a job in 
the woods up my way but he quit it after two 
days and was footin’ it back to Durham. The 
boy is the son of Gideon Spencer. It seems 
Hank and a lot of fellows full of hard cider and 
rum went up to Gideon Spencer’s house to 
make the old man sign the test oath, he bein’ 
a Tory, thinkin’ that he wouldn’t sign it and 
they could ransack his house. They say the 
boy stood up for his father before the crowd 
and held ’em back till Parson Adams and some 
others come up and driv ’em off. Hank got 
hit in the fracas and he ain’t forgot it. The 
boy is all right, and he was on the trip to the 
fort, but it ain’t natural that Major Sullivan 
or Parson Adams would confide in a boy, is 


THE KING’S POWDER 187 

it? I wouldn't lay no faith in anything Hank 
says." 

“The powder would he safe anyway, with 
a trainin' company right in the village." 

“Wal, I dunno. The company don’t amount 
to much. Except on trainin' days they're 
mostly scattered round the country." 

R-afer pondered for a time in silence. “But 
three men couldn't have stowed them barrels 
away," he said at last. “Major Sullivan and 
the parson wouldn’t be apt to do it with their 
own hands. Some others must have done the 
work." 

“Seems so, don't it? The' was some there 
from Exeter and other places. Like as not 
some folks in them places knows where the 
stuff is, but nobody's goin' to pry round to find 
it. It's all safe wherever 't is, and them that 
knows about it will produce it when the time 
comes. For a while folks was cur'us, but the 
talk’s all died down now." 

“If the governor knowed where it was 
couldn't he send up and get it unbeknownst 
to the folks in Durham?" 

The farmer laughed. “The governor! A 


188 


THE KING’S POWDER 


sight he can do, shut up as he is in his big 
house, not darin’ to move! He can issue proc¬ 
lamations but that’s all he can do. Nobody 
pays no attention to ’em. They’ve got nothin’ 
agin him personally, he was a, mighty good 
governor in the old days, but he’s on the wrong 
side now.” 

“But why can’t the warships send crews up 
river in the night and lug off the stuff ? ’ ’ 

“ ’Cause they don’t know where it is, in the 
fust place, and then agin, there’s the ice.” 

“But after the ice goes out?” 

“Wal, I dunno. They’d have to pry round 
and find out where it is, fust, and who’s go in’ 
to tell ’em? Then there’d be a sight o’ people 
on the lookout if the King’s boats came up river. 
No, I can’t see no resk on that side. If what 
I hear is true, them warship crews ain’t goin’ 
to venture far from Portchmuth harbor. It 
wouldn’t be safe for ’em. You must know 
more ’bout that than I do, seein’ as you’ve 
ben aboard.” 

Bafer made haste to assure the farmer that 
his opinion was entirely correct, adding a*s a 
contribution of his own that half the crews 
would desert, if they once got ashore out of 


THE KING’S POWDER 


189 


the reach of their officers. Then he dropped 
the subject and asked some questions about 
Nottingham that kept the farmer’s tongue 
busy during the remainder of the journey. 

It was early afternoon when the heavy sled 
stopped before Stubbs’ tavern in Durham, 
where the farmer was in.the habit of warming 
himself and wetting his whistle, while his horses 
rested. The taproom was almost empty as 
they entered. A teamster in heavy sheepskins 
stood at the bar, regaling himself with rum 
and hot water. In a chair near the fireplace 
was a sour-looking man with his long legs 
stretched out in front of him, fore-arms ly¬ 
ing along the rails of the chair, chin buried in 
the bosom of his greasy jacket. 

It was to this unwelcome patron that the 
landlord was speaking as the two visitors en¬ 
tered: “You might as well go along, Hank, 
for I won’t give you another drop. If you’ve 
got any silver left, you’d better take it home 
to your wife. The poor thing’ll need it bad 
enough.” 

“That’s Hank Bean I was tellin’ you about 
a spell back,” said the farmer in a low voice, 
nudging the sailor with his elbow. “Loafs in 


190 


THE KING’S POWDER 


the winter and hangs round the barges in the 
summer. I pity his woman.” Then he went 
forward to the bar and introduced his com¬ 
panion. 

Ephraim Stubbs, the tavern keeper, was a 
respectable publican, honest and public-spir¬ 
ited. His calling at that time was deemed as 
honorable as any other. Knowing well the 
worthless character of many of the British 
deserters, Stubbs showed himself only mildly 
impressed by the farmer’s story. When Rafer 
assured him that he meant to make a circuit 
round to Salem if he found no work and that 
he had money enough for his present needs, 
the host became somewhat more friendly, and 
had several questions to ask about the opera¬ 
tions of the warships. 

The farmer having drunk at Rafer’s expense 
shook hands and went his way. The conver¬ 
sation at the bar slackened. 

“Anything else you want?” asked Stubbs. 
“I’ve something to tend to inside.” 

“Some bread and cheese and a hot negus,” 
answered Rafer. “I’ve had nothing to eat 
since morning.” He glanced over to Hank’s 


THE KING’S POWDER 


191 


recumbent figure. “If you’re going away, 
bring another negus for this gentleman here. I 
want some one to talk to when I am taking my 
bite—that is, if he don’t object to joining me.” 

“Oh, he’ll join you all right,” said the land¬ 
lord, grinning, “and he’ll stay joined as long 
as you’ll let him. I’d like to see him as ready 
to join an ax or a cant-hook. Sarah’ll bring 
what you want. You can pay her.” 

Stubbs went out, leaving the men alone. 

“Any work round here?” began the sailor. 

“I can’t find none,” answered the gloomy 
Hank, rousing himself from his dejection in 
anticipation of the enlivening drink that was 
in prospect. “Perhaps you can. They allays 
does more fur a stranger than they will fur 
one of their own folks.” 

“Hard work in the woods, ain’t it?” 

“Yes. Kind o’ hard, and I ain’t very well. 
I had a job up Nott’nam way, but I got sick 
and so I had to come home. The’ ain’t nobody 
round here doing much in the woods ’cept Gid¬ 
eon Spencer. And he wouldn’t hire me if I 
was the last man alive in the world.” 

“Why not?” 



192 


THE KING’S POWDER 


“ ’Cause he’s a Tory, and I ain’t. Me and 
some others tried to make him sign the oath, 
and he’ll hold it agin me forever.” 

44 You don’t say so! Tell me about it.” 

Sarah appeared with the drinks and Rafer’s 
lunch while Hank was still in the course of his 
partisan account of his adventure at the Spen¬ 
cer house. Rafer paid the bill from a little 
bag heavy with coin which he drew from his 
pocket, and as he did so gave Hank a glimpse 
of yellow pieces among the silver. 

“You say this man Spencer has a son?” 

“Yes, a stuck-up young ninkum who thinks 
he belongs to the gentry. ’ ’ 

“Is he a Tory, too?” 

“I guess not, but you can’t tell for certain. 
He was along when they got the powder, and 
that let the old man off. Tory father, Tory 
son, say I.” 

“Oh, the powder! I’ve heard about that. 
I guess a good patriot like you must ’a’ had 
a hand in that, too.” 

“I can’t say as I did. I wa’n’t out that 
night. ’ ’ 

“Well, you’d ’a’ done your part if you’d 


THE KING'S POWDER 


193 


been there, of course. They told you all about 
it next morning, I expect.” 

44 Not they!” Hank answered, in a tone of 
indignation. “Nary a word. Here was us fel¬ 
lers, ready to risk our lives for the province, 
and they just hustled that powder away and 
hid it, and we don’t even know where to get 
any if the Britishers come. ’Tain’t right to 
keep it from honest patriots like us and let 
Tories like Gideon Spencer know all about it.” 

“So he knows!” 

“Leastwise the boy does, and that’s the same 
thing, I say.” 

“Be ye sure the boy does know!” 

“They all say so, and he don’t deny it. They 
asked him one day where ’twas hid, and he 
said he couldn’t tell. That means he knows, 
don’t it!” 

“But he ain’t the only one as knows, is he!” 

“No, there’s Major Sullivan, but you can’t 
ask him, without ye want yer head bit off, and 
Parson Adams, and ’tis no use askin’ him, for 
you’d only get a sermon an hour long, all about 
things ye ain’t done. His fine miss of a daugh¬ 
ter may know, too, for all I can say. She’s 


194 


THE KING’S POWDER 


betwattled with young Spencer, and he may 
have let it out to her. She’s another uppish 
young person. ’Cause she’s the minister’s 
daughter and sometimes goes down to Kittery 
to visit to Colonel Sparruck’s house, she turns 
up her nose at us common people.” 

Hank’s animosities possessed a truly Old 
Testament character. No one of a family 
could he innocent if any other was guilty. 

“Gideon Spencer ain’t the only Tory in these 
parts, is he?” 

44 If the’s another, I don’t know him. ’ ’ 

Rafer fell into silence as he consumed his 
bread and cheese, thinking over what Hank 
had said. It was clear that the boy, John Spen¬ 
cer, possessed the information Captain Mowatt 
desired. It would be well if he could see this 
youth. 

4 4 Then, Hank, you think Gideon Spencer is 
the only man who could give me a job,” said 
Rafer, at last, having come to a decision as to 
his course. 

44 He can, if he will, but I dunno as he will.” 

Rafer took out a half-crown and exposed it 
to Hank’s greedy gaze. 44 You ain’t very 
flush ? ’ ’ 


THE KING’S POWDER 


195 


44 No, I ain’t,” said Hank, speaking the truth 
like an honest man. 

44 This here’s for you, if you’ll take me up to 
Gideon Spencer’s house.” 

Hank squirmed in his chair. “Well, you 
see,” he said hesitatingly, 44 I can’t very well 
go up there with you. It—it wouldn’t do you 
no good if I did. I mean, ’twould do you more 
harm than good to have me along. ’ ’ 

44 I see,” said Rafer, bursting into a laugh. 
4 4 They warned you off. Mebbe they keep a 
dog. Mayhap the young feller’s got a stick 
ready for you.” 

Hank sat up very straight, and his eyes shot 
hate in a fashion that delighted the sailor like 
the promise of a fight. 

44 I ain’t afeard o’ no dog nor of nothing 
that young popinjay can do to me. I’ve got 
an account to settle with him one of these days, 
and he’ll know me better afore he’s much older, 
but I ain’t ready for trouble now, and I ain’t 
goin’ to get into it if I can help it. I’ll go 
along and show you where the house is, if that’ll 
satisfy you, but I ain’t goin’ to do no inter- 
ducin’.” 

4 4 That’s enough for me,” said Rafer. 


196 


THE KING'S POWDER 


“Here’s the half-crown. Let’s get there afore 
sundown. If I can’t get work here, I don’t 
want to stay ’round no longer ’n I have to. ’ ’ 

Hank led his open-handed friend out on the 
Cocheco road. After a walk of five minutes 
he stopped and pointed toward a large yellow 
house lying on the slope beyond. “That’s the 
house. I hope you’ll have luck.” 

Saying this he turned about and went back 
along the road by which he had come. He had 
the half-crown to spend. 

Rafer turned into the yard and followed the 
sled track to the back door. Old Martha an¬ 
swered his knock. 

“Is Squire Spencer at home?” 

“He ain’t,” answered the elderly maid, 
sharply. ‘ ‘ What do ye want of him ? ’ ’ 

“I want to see him about a job.” 

“He ain’t sendin’ any vessels to sea now, so 
he won’t be needin’ sailors.” 

“Who said anything about vessels? I’m 
lookin’ for work in the woods.” 

“In the woods, ye say? What’ll a sailor- 
man like you be wuth to him in the woods?” 

“Well, I’m not askin’ you to hire me, any- 


THE KING’S POWDER 


197 


way. If the squire ain’t in, perhaps I can see 
his son.” 

“The son’s in the barn, but he’ll not hire 
you, neither. Mr. Spencer manages his own 
business.” 

With this Martha shut the door in his face, 
leaving Rafer no alternative but to try the barn. 
As he approached it, John Spencer came out of 
a side entrance and faced him, a slim but vigor¬ 
ous figure, with an open boyish face and frank 
eyes. 

“You are Mr. Spencer’s son?” began Rafer. 

“John Spencer.” 

Rafer explained his business. John listened 
politely to the end. 

“You can see Father when he returns in 
about an hour, but I am afraid it will be a waste 
of your time here to wait for him. He wants 
only experienced choppers, and he would have 
a prejudice against you because of—well, I 
don’t think the fact that you have deserted from 
the navy would recommend you to him. In 
these days when so many are out of work, he 
has a choice of the best, you see. I mean the 
most experienced men.” 


198 


THE KING’S POWDER 


“I see,” said Rafer, who was observing the 
young man rather than listening to him. 

“I can get you something to eat, if you need 
it.” 

“Oh, I ain’t a beggar,” said the sailor with 
a show of indignation. ‘ ‘ I don’t want charity.’ 9 

“Well, that’s all I can do for you, but you 
can wait and talk with my father, if you want 
to.” 

“I don’t want to,” declared Rafer, resent¬ 
fully, and turned away. 

He had now seen the boy, who, he was cer¬ 
tain, was in the secret, and learned all that he 
could reasonably be expected to learn in Dur¬ 
ham. He would have been glad to be able to 
report how much powder remained in the vil¬ 
lage and where it was stored, but further ef¬ 
forts to unearth the facts might easily involve 
him in trouble, and spoil the whole undertaking. 
The boy, John Spencer, was clearly the proper 
point of attack. Get the boy aboard the Can- 
ceau and make him squeal, and the rest would 
be easy. As a member of the gang of pirates 
which had sacked the King’s fort, Spencer had 
committed a crime for which the penalty was 
death. Faced with the alternative of being 


THE KING'S POWDER 


199 


sent to England to be tried for treason, be 
would hardly be fool enough to refuse to buy 
his liberty by turning informer. Rafer was 
sure he himself would not hesitate if he were 
in the boy’s position. As for conscientious 
scruples, he felt none whatever. His career 
had not been such as to leave much scope for 
either scruples of honor or impulse of patriot¬ 
ism. He cared no more for the colonial cause 
than for that of the mother country. He had 
enlisted for safety and he would desert as 
quickly when it was to his advantage to do so. 
In the meantime he would take what pickings 
came his way. 

Rafer got a bed at Stubbs ’ Tavern that night 
and set off early next morning on his return 
trip. He hired a waterman in Portsmouth to 
set him aboard ship, where he arrived with an 
excellent story of being seized by a mob and 
released the next day when they became fright¬ 
ened at the probable consequences of their act. 
It was only natural, in view of his peculiar ex¬ 
perience, that he should be summoned to the 
Captain’s cabin to make his report. 


CHAPTER IV 


It fell to Rutherford to make the next at¬ 
tempt to discover the hiding-place of the pow¬ 
der, as the first step toward its recovery. 
Waiting on Governor Wentworth in Ports¬ 
mouth on an errand in connection with the 
ever-difficult problem of provisioning the ships, 
he led the conversation to the topic of the loyal¬ 
ists in the adjoining towns, and got the names 
of the few who, the governor was sure, were 
still untainted with the popular madness. One 
of these, a gentleman farmer named Benner 
who lived in the town of Durham on the main 
road from Bickford’s Ferry, he fixed upon im¬ 
mediately as a possible helper. After a few 
more questions to distract the governor’s at¬ 
tention—the navy people looked upon him as 
a well-disposed but ineffectual person—he took 
up the all-important subject. 

“Do you think, Your Excellency, you will 
ever be able to get the powder back?” 

Governor Wentworth threw out both hands 


200 


THE KING’S POWDER 


201 


with a gesture of despair. “How can I? You 
see what my position is. If I had no force with 
which to defend it, how can I hope to recover 
it now that it is scattered and hidden away? 
The wrong-headedness of these people is incon¬ 
ceivable. They seem to have conspired en 
masse to ruin themselves and the country!’’ 

“And yet we have marines on the ships, and 
more ammunition than the whole province pos¬ 
sesses.” 

“Of what use are your marines!” retorted 
the governor, bitterly. “They cannot even 
protect a royal governor in his own house! I 
live here only on the tolerance of the rebels, 
unmolested because they know I am helpless. 
You might march to Durham and burn the 
town, and so by chance destroy the powder in 
its hiding-place,—but few of you would march 
back. ’ ’ 

“It might be well if we did that very thing.” 

“God forbid! such a deed would exasperate 
beyond measure. The colonies in ruins will be 
of no benefit to the mother country. In the 
next war the remnant would side with our en¬ 
emies. Better far to yield all the points neces¬ 
sary to keep their good will.” 


202 


THE KING’S POWDER 


“His Majesty holds another opinion,’’ said 
Rutherford, drily. 

“Yes, and as a loyal subject I obey. I am 
not unwilling to make the greatest sacrifice for 
King and country, but I feel sadly troubled at 
the woes I see impending both for loyal sub¬ 
jects and for these misguided wrong-heads.” 

Rutherford took his departure. “The weak 
fool!” he muttered, as he retraced his way to 
the landing. “Does he think Britain will let 
these rustics browbeat her forever! We’ll get 
that powder yet!” 

The next day saw him on his quest, dressed 
in the plain garb of the country. Crossing the 
ferry at Fox Point, he followed the road for 
half a mile, and stopped at a long, weather¬ 
beaten house of two stories in front, with roof 
sloping to the level of a single story in the rear. 
Elijah Benner was at home. At Rutherford’s 
suggestion that he had come on a secret errand, 
Benner led him into a little room adjoining the 
parlor. 

“You are a loyal subject,” began Ruther¬ 
ford. 

“Who are you!” 

“James Rutherford from the sloop-of-war 


THE KING’S POWDER 


203 


Canceau. Governor Wentworth gave me your 
name.” 

Benner gazed at him long and hard. “So 
you say. You think I am a Tory. I deny it. 
If I were, it would be foolhardy for me to put 
myself in peril by discussing politics with an 
unknown man. You should see that yourself. 
How should I know that you are not a spy sent 
out by the patriots to test me!” 

“Here is a letter from Captain Mowatt.” 

Benner glanced at the letter and handed it 
back. “I don’t know him.” 

“Here is one from Sir William Pepperell.” 

This received more favorable attention. The 
farmer read it with care, then refolded and re¬ 
turned it. “That’s better. Now we can talk,” 
he said in pleasanter tones. “Poor man! 
Who would have thought five years ago that 
the heir of the great Sir William would come 
to such a pass in his own country? He will 
be a ruined man if the home government don’t 
support him as he supports the government. 
The patriots advertised him last fall as an 
enemy of the country and told his tenants not 
to renew their leases on penalty of being cut 
off from intercourse—all because he kept the 



204 


THE KING’S POWDER 


position of mandamus councillor under the 
crown. And lie’s the biggest landowner in all 
New England! Colonel Sparhawk, his father, 
as far as I can make out, is on the fence, waitin’ 
to see how to jump, hut the boys are all out-and- 
outers, which means that they’ll have to get 
out. ’ ’ 

“They’ll he rewarded when the settlement 
comes, repaid all they’ve lost, and much more 
into the bargain. ” 

“Maybe so,” said Benner doubtfully. “Let 
us hope so, anyway, but you can’t defy the 
whole country, and keep on living in it. I tell 
you, Sir William has got a sight to lose. That’s 
where the old Colonel is foxier. He won’t com¬ 
mit himself. No more will I. My heart’s all 
right, but I don’t hanker to be a martyr— 
the King’s too far off from Durham village. 
Now what is it you want?” 

Rutherford explained his errand and the 
farmer, though with some reluctance, agreed 
to make discreet inquiries in the village. It 
was arranged that he should send written word 
unsigned to a house on Cross Street, Ports¬ 
mouth, where lived a trusted intermediary. 
Three days later the laconic report was in the 


THE KING’S POWDER 


205 


secretary’s hands: “Nobody knows, or if any 
one knows, he has not told. Better let it 
alone. ’’ 

In disgnst Rutherford crumpled the slip of 
paper and thrust it deep into his pocket, revil¬ 
ing all colonials, and especially the pretended 
loyalists, as a mean-spirited set. Their hearts 
might be right, as Benner claimed, but not one 
of them would risk his skin or his lands to 
attain the desire of his heart. “The only way 
is to capture the boy,” he decided, “and we’ll 
have to depend on ourselves. Men like Benner 
won’t lift a finger to help us. The boy knows. 
When we get our hands on him, we’ll know, 
too.” 

But how were they to get their hands on the 
boy! During the next week Mowatt and Ruth¬ 
erford discussed the problem often and long 
over bottles and tumblers in the captain’s state¬ 
room. They schemed and discussed, they 
chafed and fretted, until in the course of time 
the name of John Spencer—its modest owner 
wholly unconscious that he could be an object 
of concern to the royal navy—came to suggest 
to them the picture of a defiant personal en¬ 
emy, who was to be hunted relentlessly down 


206 


THE KING’S POWDER 


and then to be made to atone, by one long in¬ 
tense punishment, for all the trouble he had 
caused. 

“If only we had him!” Rutherford would say 
at the end of a deep draught, and leer signifi¬ 
cantly across the table at his commanding of¬ 
ficer. 

“When we have him,” corrected the captain, 
and his handsome face would set in harsh lines 
and his eyes darken with cruel resolve. 

But puzzle their brains as they might, they 
could think of no scheme that would deliver 
the boy into their hands without incurring the 
risk of a clash with the angry colonials such 
as General Gage had expressly forbidden. In 
the protection of his home and of the factious 
villagers, young Spencer seemed beyond their 
reach. 

Then unexpectedly, without plot or action on 
their part, chance threw across their path the 
coveted opportunity, like a purse of gold trod¬ 
den on in the broad highway. It happened on 
a bright, clear day in mid-February. Captain 
Mowatt had introduced his secretary at the 
Sparhawk mansion, not omitting to mention 
that he was the cousin of a lord of high degree. 


THE KING’S POWDER 


207 


The Colonel had invited them both to a late 
afternoon dinner. They crossed the harbor 
from the ship in the captain’s gig, rowed by 
four oarsmen of whom Rafer was one. At 
Warehouse Point, where the boat was tied up, 
Captain Mowatt left three of the men to seek 
refuge from the cold where they could best 
find it, and took with him Rafer to wait in the 
kitchen until he should be required to round 
up the crew*. The way to Sparhawk House 
from the shore led up to the road which ran 
along the length of Kittery Point, and across 
it into the long avenue, lined with great elms, 
that extended to the house. As Mowatt and 
Rutherford, followed closely by Rafer, ap¬ 
proached the highway, a youthful horseman 
appeared on the road from the direction of the 
mainland, and turned into Colonel Sparhawk’s 
avenue. 

“That’s him, sir!” called out Rafer, excit¬ 
edly, from behind. 

The captain wheeled round. “Who?” 

“The boy, sir, John Spencer.” 

The captain turned again, and followed with 
his gaze the figure of the rider, growing smaller 
as the horse trotted farther down the avenue, 


208 


THE KING’S POWDER 


becoming a dark patch against the whiteness 
of the house when the rider drew rein at the 
door. 

“He’s gone in!” he exclaimed. 

“And left the horse,” ejaculated Ruther¬ 
ford. “That means he won’t stay long. We 
can nab him when he comes back.” 

The captain glanced sharply to right and 
left, and remarked two men plodding along 
the road in one direction, and a boy carrying 
schoolbooks approaching from the other. 
“Rather a public place for a boarding engage¬ 
ment, but I’ll risk it if we have to. What can 
have brought him here, I wonder? I have it! 
Miss Sparhawk said she was expecting a visit 
this week from a young friend of hers, Priscilla 
Adams. It must be the parson’s daughter from 
Durham whom Rafer heard about on his trip. 
The youngster has come to bring a message 
for her. I’d stake a five-pound note on it.” 

Rutherford gave a loud sigh of relief. “I’d 
be loth to take you up on that bet. If you’re 
right, the young rascal is alone and will stay 
•some time. These colonial gentlemen have 
grand notions about hospitality. He ’ll be kept 
to dinner, at least.” 


THE KING’S POWDER 


209 


“If they’ll only keep him to dinner, I’ll see 
that he’s taken care of afterwards,” growled 
the captain. “It looks as if we had him dead 
to leeward.” 

They waited some minutes at their post of 
observation, then walked very slowly down the 
avenue. They had advanced but part way to¬ 
ward their goal when they beheld the young 
man emerge from the house and lead his horse 
around the corner. 

“That settles it. We are to be fellow guests 
with the rogue at dinner, ’ ’ declared the captain, 
jubilantly. “Later, I’ll play host alone. But 
until the time comes, the utmost cordiality! 
Not a hint to the Sparhawks or any one else 
as to what is in the wind. Now for the plan 
of action! It has flashed into my mind com¬ 
plete, like a vessel running suddenly out of a 
f og-bank. Listen! ’ ’ 

And while the captain and Rutherford, lin¬ 
gering in the avenue, are maturing their plans, 
it may be well to explain precisely what brought 
John Spencer into the jaws of the trap. Hav¬ 
ing a business errand for his father in Kittery 
village, he had made bold to ask at the parson¬ 
age whether he could carry any parcel or mes- 


210 


THE KING’S POWDER 


sage to Miss Priscilla at Sparhawk House. In 
the primitive life of the time, when means of 
communication were slow and difficult, the dis¬ 
position to ask and to offer neighborly assist¬ 
ance was far more general than in these days 
of complex transportation service and rural 
mail delivery. Besides, John liked the idea of 
doing an unasked service for Priscilla, and may 
have been tempted by the chance to have a 
peep at the famed interior of the Kittery man¬ 
sion. At any rate he was there, and cared no 
more for the miles added to his ride than the 
boy of to-day would mind an extra walk of a 
dozen city blocks for the privilege of inspect¬ 
ing a new radio apparatus in a comrade’s 
room. 

He had his oral message well in mind when 
Priscilla came down the broad staircase to 
meet him, but nearly forgot it in his surprise 
at the greeting he received. 4 ‘Why, John 
Spencer! How came you here?” 

“On horseback/’ he answered, a little net¬ 
tled, as if the exclamation suggested that he 
was unwelcome. “You don’t seem very glad 
to see me.” 

Priscilla eyed him mischievously. “That’s 


THE KING’S POWDER 


211 


as may be, sir. I don’t say that I’m glad, but 
I’ll go so far as to say that I’m not sorry!— 
that is,” she added, giving his face a keener 
look, “unless you bring me bad news.” 

“I bring news, and it is in a measure bad,” 
said the boy, recovering his composure as he 
caught sight of an opportunity for a thrust. 
“I don’t mean about affairs in Durham. Ev¬ 
erything is all right there.” 

“Oh, well, then it can’t be very bad.” She 
was silent a moment and then exclaimed, “Why 
don’t you tell me? Did you ride all the way 
from Durham just to tease me?” 

“No,” said John, loftily. “That wouldn’t 
really be worth while. There’s not fun enough 
in it to pay for the long journey. I had to 
come to Kittery on an errand for my father, 
and I lengthened my ride to bring a message 
from yours.” 

“From my father?” Priscilla looked at him 
fixedly for the briefest interval, then burst into 
an infectious laugh. “Oh, I know. ’Tis about 
my going home.” 

“You’re a good guesser,—except when you 
guess that I am a Tory.” 

Priscilla raised a warning finger. i ‘ Hush! ’ ’ 


212 


THE KING’S POWDER 


she said softly. “This is a Tory household.” 

Sobered by the reproof, John gave up the 
game. “This is the message. Your father 
sends his grateful regards to Colonel Spar- 
hawk, and begs him to have the kindness to set 
you across to Portsmouth next Tuesday so that 
Richard Currie may call for you in his sleigh 
at two o’clock at Mrs. Treadwell’s shop. How 
is that for a well-remembered message?” 

“Tuesday next, at two in the afternoon, at 
Mrs. Treadwell’s shop in King Street.” Pris¬ 
cilla ticked off the essential facts with one slim 
forefinger against the other. “I have besides 
to choose a riband for my Sunday cap at Mrs. 
Treadwell’s and some lawn for my father’s 
bands. But are you sure ’tis Tuesday and not 
Wednesday? ’Twould be far from pleasant to 
be planted at the shop on the wrong day and 
have to beg a night’s lodging.” 

“He said Tuesday,” answered John, scorn¬ 
fully. “He may have meant Wednesday, but 
Tuesday was what he said.” 

“Of course!” exclaimed Priscilla. “Tues¬ 
day is Dick Currie’s day in Portsmouth. I 
know that.” 


THE KING'S POWDER 


213 


John made a bow. “Then I am believed. 
Thank you. And now that my message is de¬ 
livered—and credited—I’ll be off.” 

Just then the sound of a light tread on the 
soft carpet of the stairs and an unfamiliar rus¬ 
tle drew John’s attention from Priscilla. He 
looked up, and beheld such a vision of loveli¬ 
ness and splendor descending toward him as his 
country-boy’s eyes had never before rested on. 
Mary Sparhawk, as has been said, had a face of 
great and delicate beauty. She was dressed for 
her dinner party. The powdered hair piled 
high over a huge cushion, the shimmering gown 
of rich brocade, the miniature satin slippers 
that tripped daintily from stair to stair—these 
were the sum total of the details of the costume 
which John was able to give some days later, 
in response to his mother’s insistent question¬ 
ing. At the time his dazzled eyes picked out 
no details. It was as if a gorgeously arrayed 
duchess of the French court had stepped bod¬ 
ily forth from the book of engravings he had 
often studied on the parlor table at home, and 
assuming the bright colors and the silvery sheen 
that the engraved lines had no power to 


214 


THE KING’S POWDER 


render, were posing in living presence before 
him. 

4 4 Whom have you here, Priscilla ?” asked 
Miss Sparhawk, as she reached the foot of the 
stairs. She spoke in a low-keyed voice that 
sounded very sweet in the boy’s ears, and her 
cordial smile showed that the question was 
prompted by kindly interest rather than dis¬ 
approval. 

“ ’Tis John Spencer from home, Miss Mary. 
He has just stopped in to give me a message 
from my father.” 

“I am glad to see you,” said Miss Sparhawk, 
holding out her hand, which the boy took in 
some confusion. “ Priscilla has spoken of you. 
I hope nothing amiss has happened at Dur¬ 
ham.” 

‘ 4 Indeed not, ma’am!” said John, plucking up 
courage. “I was riding to Kittery on business 
for my father, and Mr. Adams bade me bring 
Priscilla directions about her return. I am 
just starting back.” 

‘ ‘But you will stay to dinner, of course. You 
have a long ride before you, and will be the 
better for rest and refreshment.” 

John looked down ruefully at his heavy rid- 


THE KING’S POWDER 215 

ing-boots. “My dress will, hardly befit your 
table, Miss Sparhawk.” 

“Nonsense! We are used to boots, and to 
taking travelers as they come. If you are 
squeamish, my brother will fit you out with 
shoes and stockings, but I am sure my mother 
will accept you as you are, rather than let you 
go away hungry. Think of your horse. The 
poor brute needs the rest if you do not.” 

John glanced at Priscilla, still hesitating. 
The invitation was tempting, yet for some rea¬ 
son, perhaps only shyness, he longed to escape, 
and knew not how to do so. 

Miss Sparhawk laughed lightly. “There’s 
no escape for you, young man. When the lady 
commands, the knight obeys. Priscilla, pray 
call Caesar to take Mr. Spencer’s horse to the 
stable.” 

“Let me do it, ma’am. I always like to see 
my horse put up.” 

“A good habit. I’ll send Caesar to help you. 
When you return, Salem will show you where 
you may make yourself tidy.” 

John made his most deferential bow. 
“Thank you, ma’am. You are very kind. 
With your permission I’ll go at once.” 


216 


THE KING’S POWDER 


He had hardly closed the heavy door behind 
him, when Priscilla opened it again and called 
him hack. 

“Be careful at table,” she whispered. “If 
they seek to question you concerning politics, 
be sure you know naught about them. You’re 
but a boy, you know, and can’t be expected to 
have opinions upon such matters. Just be nat¬ 
ural and quiet, and everything will come out 
right. Miss Mary is a fine lady, but she’s a 
real dear, too.” 

Then without waiting for answer, she slipped 
back through the great door. 


CHAPTER V 


When" John Spencer stepped modestly into 
the drawing-room, he found present a larger 
company than he had expected. Samuel Spar- 
hawk, the twenty-three-year-old son of the 
house, who was on a visit from Boston with his 
young wife, he had already met while he was 
putting his dress in order in the big corner 
room up-stairs. Colonel Sparhawk, a digni¬ 
fied, elderly gentleman, greeted him kindly and 
relieved his boyish embarrassment by remark¬ 
ing that knowing and respecting the father as 
he did, he was glad to be able to entertain the 
son. Madam Sparhawk, who had been brought 
up like a princess in the home of her father, 
gentle and distinguished in person, hospitable 
by tradition and a saint in character, was like¬ 
wise gracious toward him. The two guests 
from the ship, however, the one in brilliant uni¬ 
form, the other richly dressed in a style un¬ 
familiar to him, startled and disquieted him. 

They seemed like figures emblematic of the 

217 


218 


THE KING’S POWDER 


mighty power and wealth of the oppressive gov¬ 
ernment, thrown in his way to impress him 
with the backwardness and poverty of his rustic 
countrymen. Their presence changed the at¬ 
mosphere of the house; in spite of the cordial¬ 
ity of his hosts, he felt the environment hostile. 

Yet there was nothing in the bearing of the 
officers to support this prejudice. Far from 
assuming an attitude of contempt, they sur¬ 
prised him with their condescension. The cap¬ 
tain gave him his hand, and declared himself 
pleased to find such an addition to the party. 
“Our young friend here,’’ he added, bowing 
courteously to Priscilla, “will not be left wholly 
to the tiresome talk of her elders.’’ 

The secretary engaged the boy immediately 
in conversation: “You have had a hard ride, 
I’ll wager. Durham must be difficult to reach 
from this side of the river. ’ ’ 

It struck John as strange that the gentleman 
should have already learned the starting-point 
of his journey, or remembered the fact, if he 
had been told it; but he could not delay his 
answer to seek an explanation. 

“Long, perhaps, sir, hut not hard. Since the 
last thaw the roads are smooth, and the solid 


THE KING’S POWDER 


219 


ice on the rivers where the tide is not strong 
gives you a ferry wherever you want it .* 9 

4 ‘You ride a good deal?” 

“Oh, yes, sir. We all must ride, unless we 
are content to stay cooped up all winter.’’ 

‘ ‘ And in the summer ? 9 9 

“In the summer everything is different. 
Then we take to the water, and let the tide 
carry us up and down.” 

“And what do the people do in your vil¬ 
lage?” 

“Farm it, and build vessels, and do trading. 
The life is much the same in all the places along 
the river and bay.” 

“People in your region are strong Whigs, I 
suppose.” As he said this, Rutherford with¬ 
drew his gaze from the boy’s face and looked 
across to the logs glowing in the fireplace. He 
intended the remark to seem casual. 

But John, forewarned, was not at a loss. 
“Are they?” he said, with a naturalness that 
surprised him. “It may be so, for all I know. 
I’m counted too young to discuss politics.” 

‘ ‘ Quite right, ’ ’ returned Rutherford. ‘ ‘ Keep 
out of politics. From all I can learn ’tis pol¬ 
itics that’s ruining the country.” 


220 


THE KING’S POWDER 


In the brief silence that ensued the secre¬ 
tary’s thoughts were busy with new impres¬ 
sions. “A clever fellow, this young rebel,” he 
was saying to himself, “he doesn’t give himself 
away. Straight and hard and supple, too—he 
won’t be mastered easily. Rafer and I can do 
it, but we must take him off his guard. An 
honest face he has, too. The old man will have 
no easy job to make him squeal.” 

Then, breaking the silence, he said aloud: 
“Your life in the country, compared with mine 
at the present time, isn’t so demd bad. Here 
am I, shut up in a third-rate ship that does 
nothing but drift round the coast, cut off from 
all my old friends, spendin’ my time copyin’ 
papers and keepin’ accounts. I was brought 
up on horseback and have followed the hounds 
many a time when there weren’t many with me 
at the finish, but by gad, I’ve hardly seen a 
horse for six months. To get an invitation to 
dine in a house like this is like fin din’ an oasis 
in the desert. Sometimes I’m tempted to run 
off and take to the woods.” 

“I’m afraid you wouldn’t gain much by the 
change, sir,” said John, who had listened with 
sympathy to the Englishman’s frank statement 


THE KING’S POWDER 


221 


of liis privations. “It's a hard life they lead 
in the woods in winter.’’ 

Rutherford moved to the side of the young 
Mrs. Sparhawk, and John edged over to Pris¬ 
cilla. 

“How do you like him?” asked the girl. 
“He’s cousin to some great person, I believe, 
but not very great himself—nor good, either.” 

“That’s a harsh tiling to say when you don’t 
know him at all. He seems to me a very agree¬ 
able gentleman.” 

“I liked not his countenance as he looked at 
you. He had one expression when you were 
watching him, and another when you were not. ’ ’ 

John laughed. “That’s like you. You take 
a scunner against a person without cause, and 
then invent reasons to support your prejudice. 
Now, I remember—” 

“No, don’t remember!” interposed Priscilla, 
quickly. “I’ve forbidden it, or if you remem¬ 
ber anything, let it be that you are in a 
strange company, and must keep your opinions 
to yourself. The Colonel and Madam and Miss 
Mary are lovely, but Mr. Samuel is a tire-eat¬ 
ing loyalist. I hope yoju won’t be seated next to 
him.” 


222 


THE KING’S POWDER 


Salem announced dinner. Madam Spar- 
hawk led the way into the dining-hall with the 
captain, the secretary gave his arm to Mrs. 
Sparhawk, Mary followed with her brother and 
the two young people brought up the rear with 
the Colonel. John found himself seated be¬ 
tween Priscilla and Mrs. Sparhawk, who was 
placed at the Colonel’s right with Rutherford 
opposite her. It was a fine room, with beauti¬ 
ful wide-paneled wainscot, magnificent cor¬ 
nices, finely carved mantel, and imposing por¬ 
traits on the walls. The heavy hangings at the 
windows were already drawn. On the glossy 
white tablecloth, masses of silver and glass, 
glittering under the huge chandelier, left visi¬ 
ble only in sections the master-weaver’s elab¬ 
orate pattern. 

“You look dazed,” whispered Priscilla. 

“I am, indeed. It all seems to me wonder¬ 
ful.” 

“I like the drawing-room better. Every bit 
of the woodwork you see was wrought in Eng¬ 
land from material sent over by Sir William. 
He built the house as a wedding gift for Madam 
Sparhawk, you know.” 


THE KING’S POWDER 


223 


“I prefer this room, with the brave array of 
silver on the table.” 

4 ‘That was part of the wedding outfit, and 
the furniture, too.” 

“I suppose it’s clownish of me, but I can’t 
help being amazed at it all.” 

44 It’s clownish to be amazed, but not to ad¬ 
mire,” said Priscilla, wisely. 4 4 People who 
have fine things like to have them admired. 
You can admire them all you will, for no one 
will pay any attention to us. We’re children.” 

It was even .so. The dinner took its course; 
the heavy joint, the poultry, the vegetables, the 
puddings and the pies, the cheese, and the 
sweets came in their proper order; wine-glasses 
were emptied and refilled. Occasionally a 
kindly attempt was made to give the youngest 
guests a slight share in the conversation, but 
for the most part it flourished at the ends of 
the table. Mrs. Samuel Sparhawk was voluble 
about her experiences in Boston; the secretary 
had much to say concerning London. The 
Colonel managed to work in a few remin¬ 
iscences. At the other end of the board, the 
captain was hard put to it to be attentive to 


224 


THE KING’S POWDER 


his hostess, and at the same time enjoy the 
privilege of paying compliments to the beauti¬ 
ful Mary, while the son of the house strove 
continually to engage him in a discussion of 
the affairs of the colonies. Only once was there 
threat of unpleasant questions, and that was 
when Captain Mowatt suddenly addressed the 
youth from across the table: “Mr. Spencer, 
I have just been informed that your father is 
a sound Tory. I am very glad to hear that this 
is so.” 

John’s response to this assertion was a dis¬ 
creet bow. 

“Priscilla is a staunch little Whig,” said 
Miss Mary, roguishly. “You must be careful, 
John, or she will convert you.” 

“Perhaps he will convert me,” remarked the 
wily Priscilla, quite calmly. “Only we don’t 
presume to talk politics. It makes no differ¬ 
ence at all what I think. I’m only a girl, and my 
sex isn’t expected to have political opinion.” 

“Ah, but there you are wrong, Miss Pris¬ 
cilla,” said the captain, gallantly. “It is the 
ladies who inspire our best ideals as well as our 
noblest deeds.” And with the words he 


THE KING’S POWDER 


225 


smirked first at the lady of the house, and then 
with more gusto at the charming Mary. 

‘ 4 Disgusting! ’ ’ thought Priscilla. 4 ‘ How can 
she endure the creature! ’’ 

John could not repress a feeling of uneasi¬ 
ness when Madam Sparhawk rose from the 
table and withdrew with the ladies to the draw¬ 
ing-room. The talk would now be less re¬ 
strained ; questions might well be asked that he 
would find difficult to answer. 

A bottle of port was set on the table and the 
men drew closer together. 

“Perhaps you would prefer to join the 
ladies,” suggested Colonel Sparhawk, to John’s 
great relief. “You will doubtless find their 
conversation more entertaining.” 

“Thank you, sir/’ said the boy, rising. “If 
the gentlemen will excuse me—” He bowed 
and left the room, happy to escape with no 
worse embarrassment than an unfinished sen¬ 
tence. 

In the drawing-room he found young Mrs. 
Sparhawk and Mary seated near a window, the 
former still talking volubly, the latter, after the 
harmful practice of our foremothers, utilizing 



226 


THE KING’S POWDER 


the fast-waning light of the winter day to add 
new stitches to her dainty embroidery. Madam 
Sparhawk and Priscilla sat before the fire¬ 
place. 

“I was just telling Madam Sparhawk how 
much you admired the dining-hall/’ Priscilla 
began, as John took a chair beside her. 4 4 Now 
you can speak for yourself.” 

“I am afraid my admiration will not count 
greatly in her eyes,” said John, simply. “I 
have had little chance to see such grand rooms. 
I thought as I sat at table that it would give 
me the greatest pleasure just to walk about 
and look my fill at all the interesting things.” 

“ Others, who have had better opportunities 
than you, have been equally appreciative of the 
house and its belongings,” observed the lady, 
kindly. “I love it for what it is and because 
it represents the affectionate care for me of 
my dear father. The woodwork was fashioned 
in England from lumber cut on the estate. The 
furniture was all made for the house from de¬ 
signs approved by Sir William. ’ ’ 

“And the pictures,” said John. “Ho'vfr 
wonderful to have all these portraits of dis¬ 
tinguished men! I recognized Sir William 


THE KING’S POWDER 


227 


over the mantel piece. My father has an en¬ 
graving of him. And the one opposite in 
admiral’s uniform—isn’t that Sir Peter War¬ 
ren, who helped Sir William to take Louis- 
burg?” 

Madam Sparhawk nodded assent, smiling 
with pleasure. “I like to hear you say that 
the admiral helped him. There was a time 
when Sir Peter would have it that it was the 
other way around, and that my father was the 
helper. He vexed the general grievously at 
times during the siege, but after it was over, 
they were always good friends. The portrait 
was a present from the admiral.” 

“Won’t you please tell him about the por¬ 
trait of yourself above the chimney-piece, the 
one that Mr. Copley painted,” began Priscilla, 
“and how he changed the color of your gown 
to suit his own taste?” 

The request met with favor, and the con¬ 
versation spun itself on to the absorbed in¬ 
terest of the young man, who had never be¬ 
fore enjoyed an intimate introduction to the 
treasures of a rich colonial house. His knowl¬ 
edge of persons and events, his eager inter¬ 
est, flattered his hostess and drew her out. 


228 


THE KING’S POWDER 


The young ladies left the window and joined 
the group; Salem brought candles. Ruther¬ 
ford appeared, and with practised politeness 
increased both the general enjoyment and his 
own credit as an agreeable man of the world. 
The minutes slipped by unnoticed by all ex¬ 
cept Priscilla, who finally felt compelled to re¬ 
mind her oblivious friend of the long ride that 
lay before him. 

“Don’t you think you ought to be starting 
back?” she whispered. “ ’Tis already dark.” 

John awoke as from a dream. -‘Good 
heavens! I had forgotten all about getting 
home. Luckily there’s a moon, and Dolly 
knows the way as well as I do.” 

“ Madam Sparhawk,” he said, turning to 
his hostess, “I am sorry indeed to have to 
leave, but I should have been on my way home 
long before this. May I ask you to excuse 
me? I cannot thank you enough for all your 
kindness to me.” 

“We are very glad to have had you with us, 
I am sure. You and Priscilla remind me of the 
days when my own young family were about 


THE KING’S POWDER 


229 


“I hope I’m not considered old yet, Mother 
dear,” observed Mary. 

4 ‘Older than Priscilla, my love, at all events,” 
returned her mother. Then to the waiting boy 
she added thoughtfully. “It distresses me to 
think of your taking that long cold ride in the 
darkness.” 

“I’ll warrant he’ll mind it less, Madam, 
than I shall the row across to the ship,” in¬ 
terposed Rutherford, who began to fear that 
the hospitable lady might insist on keeping the 
lad over night. 

“I’m not afraid of the ride,” said John, with 
a smile of confidence. “Dolly and I will make 
it very comfortably in the moonlight.” 

“Then I suppose you should be on your 
way. Mary, will you please ring for Caesar?” 

“I beg of you, madam,” put in Rutherford, 
“not to disturb poor Caesar. He’s probably 
sound asleep in the chimney corner in the 
kitchen. Let me act as escort to the young- 
gentleman ; I should really like to see his Dolly. 
In olden times I used to know something about 
horseflesh myself. It’s little chance I get to 
handle a horse these days.” 


230 


THE KING’S POWDER 


“Very well then, if you will have it so. 
Salem will light you a lantern in the hall. 
Good-by, John Spencer. We shall be glad to 
have you come to us again.” 

John made his adieus with the best grace of 
which he was capable, not forgetting to leave 
his respects for the absent gentlemen—these 
were the days when the young were taught 
manners—and bowed himself out. As he 
passed Priscilla she gave him a serious look 
and whispered, “Be careful!” To which John 
whispered back gayly, “There’s nothing to be 
careful about; Dolly takes the care.” 

It seemed strange to the boy that Priscilla 
should say such a foolish thing as that. Pris¬ 
cilla herself could not have explained why she 
said it, or why she should have conceived the 
suspicion that the excessive politeness of the 
captain’s secretary might cover some sinister 
purpose. It certainly was not the horse nor 
the road that was in her thoughts, when the 
impulse to speak seized her. 


CHAPTER VI 


The ladies were still making flattering com¬ 
ments on the politeness shown to a country boy 
by the kinsman of a great nobleman, when 
Priscilla left them, and going up-stairs to the 
room which she occupied, sat down without 
lighting a candle at a window overlooking the 
driveway to the stable. She wondered a little 
at her inability to join in the chorus of praise 
over Mr. Rutherford’s condescension which 
young Mrs. Sparhawk was leading. Priscilla 
was not familiar with the ways of British lords 
and their cousins, but she felt sure, basing her 
opinion on the general experience of the pro¬ 
vincials as well as the gossip she had heard in 
this very house, that arrogance and indifference 
to the feelings of inferiors were very common 
characteristics. Why should this Rutherford 
exhibit such affability to an unknown boy? 
The man was no angel—his face when he was 
off his guard showed that. It was not likely 
that his conduct had been inspired by pure be- 

231 


232 


THE KING’S POWDER 


nevolence. What could be the meaning of it 
all? 

She puzzled over the problem as she sat at 
the window, waiting for Dolly to appear in her 
line of vision and trot quickly past in the moon¬ 
light. John could ride, as every one knew who 
had once seen him on horseback. There would 
be no mistaking his erect figure, even in the 
uncertain light of the young moon. Waiting, 
she raised the sash a little and listened. At 
first she heard nothing, then suddenly the 
rumble of the stable door as it rolled back, the 
hollow stamp of hoofs on planks, a harsh im¬ 
precation that could not have come from John, 
and suited ill the courtly mode of the gentle- 
bred secretary. Startled, she pressed her fore¬ 
head against the window pane, and shading her 
eyes with cupped hands, watched with straining 
vision for the appearance of the horse. 

It came, but not as she had expected, not the 
even trotting Dolly that she knew, but a reluc¬ 
tant, suspicious animal, that danced and 
pranced its way into view. Right before the 
window the mare reared, and when her forefeet 
came down, her rider fell forward, flinging his 
arms awkwardly about her neck. So, with her 


THE KING’S POWDER 


233 


burden clinging prostrate to her mane, the 
horse, still cavorting, passed from sight around 
the corner of the house. 

Hesitating but for a moment, the trembling 
girl sped along the hall into the chamber that 
overlooked the avenue. From the window she 
saw, or was convinced that she saw, the rider 
tumble from the horse, and clutching at the 
bridle, give the beast a blow with his fist. He 
did not mount again, but disappeared on foot 
in the shadow of the trees. 

Priscilla, breathing heavily, leaned against 
the window casing and tried to focus her 
alarmed thoughts. ‘ ‘No foolishness, now, 
young lady!” she adjured herself. “You must 
not shriek nor faint nor go into hysterics, but 
think it out and do the right thing.” Some¬ 
thing was wrong, terribly wrong! The horse 
was Dolly, but the rider was not John Spencer. 
Dolly would never have behaved like that with 
John on her back, nor would John in such case 
have lost his seat like a clumsy sailor essaying 
his first ride. Perhaps it was a sailor—the 
officers brought sailors with them, of course— 
but whoever the rider, it was not John. Then 
where was John? Where could he be but in 


234 


THE KING’S POWDER 


the stable, held there by the treacherous Ruther¬ 
ford or perhaps—no, no! it couldn’t be that! 
They would never kill in cold blood an unimpor¬ 
tant, inoffensive boy, whatever they had against 
him. And then, as her mind groped wildly for 
a key to the mystery, there flashed upon her 
memory the only incident in John’s obscure 
history that could make him an object of inter¬ 
est to British officers—THE POWDER! 

“That’s it,” she decided instantly. “They 
want him for that because he’s a boy and can 
be made to tell. They wouldn’t kill him, oh, 
no! but they will bind him and carry him off to 
their horrible ship. And the man who couldn’t 
ride took Dolly out to mislead any one 
who might happen to be looking out, and 
will fetch others to help get John down to the 
boat.” 

And now, on the instant, she knew exactly 
what she had to do. She must verify her sus¬ 
picion, though to her it was certainty rather 
than suspicion, before she could do anything to 
thwart the plans of the conspirators. She must 
have evidence if she would appeal to Colonel 
Sparhaw^k. It might be possible to set the boy 
free before the men arrived to carry him off, 


THE KING’S POWDER 


235 


unless Rutherford remained on guard in the 
stable. In that case she would have to make a 
scene, she did not know exactly how or what, 
but something would occur to her under the 
spur of necessity. 

The front door opened below and was closed 
again. Creeping to the head of the stairs and 
down to the landing, she peered cautiously 
between the balusters. Rutherford stood be¬ 
fore the big mahogany mirror in the hall. The 
two candles on the lowboy lighted up his flushed 
face. He was setting his twisted wig aright 
and smoothing out the wrinkles in his dis¬ 
ordered dress. 

Reassured on one point at least, Priscilla 
silently opened the door that led from the land¬ 
ing to the servants’ gallery back of the stair¬ 
case, and moved softly out through the passage 
in the second story of the kitchen wing. She 
knew every turn and corner of the house. In 
the years that had elapsed since she had made 
her first visit there, coming as a child with her 
father when he exchanged of a Sunday with 
Parson Stevens, and invited repeatedly after¬ 
wards, she had rambled over the house from 
cellar to attic. So she went swiftly along the 


236 


THE KING’S POWDER 


passage in the darkness and down the steep 
stairs into the great kitchen. 

A single candle flickered on the scoured table 
by the wall opposite the chimney. The fire 
burned low. Dinah was in the milk-room 
underneath, rattling her tins. In a chair within 
the huge fireplace sat old Caesar, his grizzled 
head bowed on his breast, asleep. Priscilla 
shook him vigorously. 

“Wake up, Caesar! I want you.” 

“Yees, ma’am,” drawled the black man, 
opening his drowsy eyes, and staring stupidly 
at the tense face before him. “Yes, Missie, 
whaffor you want Caesar?” 

Priscilla shook him again. “Wake up, I say. 
Light me a lantern. I want to go to the stable. ’ ’ 

“Whaffor go to de stable, Missie? You 
gwine away dis time o 9 night ? 91 

“Never mind why. Stir your boots!” 

While Caesar took the lantern from the shelf 
over the fireplace and shuffled over to the table 
to light it, Priscilla opened the drawer in the 
dresser where Dinah kept her best knives, and 
selecting one, held it against her skirt. So she 
waited, with sorely tried patience, for the slow- 
moving negro. 


THE KING’S POWDER 


237 


“Now go before and light the way!” 

But Caesar was not ready. “I sure catch 
cold without my cap, Missie,” he pleaded. “I 
jes got to have my cap.” And he began to 
paw his head and peer stupidly about the room. 
“Now jes where did I go for to put dat pesky 
cap ? 9 9 

Priscilla stamped her foot and put on her 
worst scowl. “Caesar, you start! No more 
words and never mind the cap.” And as the 
slow-witted slave still hesitated, she lifted the 
knife into sight and added fiercely, “Do you 
see this knife? It’s sharp, and you’ll feel it in 
your back, if you stay here another single in¬ 
stant. ’ ’ 

“Laws-a-massy, Miss,” cried Caesar, “What 
a wicked chile! You couldn’t stab ole Caesar, 
noways.” But he ceased to think of his cap 
and led the way down the long passage beside 
the woodhouse. At the end of this they turned 
to the left and traversed a big room filled with 
sleighs and wheeled vehicles of diverse kinds. 
Prom this carriage-house a door led into the 
stable proper. 

As they approached this door, Priscilla felt 
a momentary chill of apprehension lest they find 


238 


THE KING’S POWDER 


it locked, but Caesar evidently had no such fear; 
the door yielded to his hand and they were in 
the stable. 

“Laws-a-massy!” ejaculated the slave. 
“Some one done gone lef’ a lighted lantern 
here. If Massa know dat, Caesar get into 
trubbel fo’ shu’.” 

But to Priscilla the sight of the lantern meant 
the confirmation of her suspicion. Why should 
they have left it, unless they were coming back? 
She took the lantern from the negro, and threw 
its light into the far corner. The stable was 
apparently empty. 

“John!” she called in a tone that was low- 
pitched, yet carried to the walls. “John 
Spencer! Where are you?” 

In answer came a muffled sound from the cor¬ 
ner where stood the two stalls used for visitors’ 
horses—the main stable lay beyond. 

“A ghost!” whispered Caesar, visibly quak¬ 
ing, “de spirit ob de ole ferryman! I’se goin’ 
back. ’ 9 

“Stay, or I’ll set him on you!” commanded 
Priscilla. She grasped the negro’s shoulder 
and checked him as he turned. “Go stand by 


THE KING’S POWDER 239 

the other lantern. A ghost won’t come near a 
light.” 

Then, with the lantern in her left hand and 
the knife clutched tight in her right, she crossed 
quickly to the stalls. The first, where Dolly had 
stood, was empty. In the second, on the clean 
straw, lay what seemed a bundle of blankets, 
writhing and twisting as if bewitched. 

“It’s lucky Caesar didn’t see this,” said the 
girl to herself, as she calmly pulled off the top 
layer. “He’d have roused the whole house 
with his yells”—and presently, aloud: “John, 
stop squirming! It’s me, Priscilla. Keep 
quiet until I cut the cords.” 

She made quick work, first releasing feet and 
hands, and then more carefully cutting away the 
handkerchief that had been passed between his 
teeth and knotted tight behind his neck. The 
boy sat up, breathing fast and hard. 

“You’re just in time,” he gasped. “I—I 
thought I was going to smother. How—how 
did you know?” 

“I guessed it when I saw Dolly go past the 
house with some one like a sailor sprawling over 
her neck. I suspected that man Rutherford!” 


240 


THE KING’S POWDER 


“It was a sailor. He grabbed me from be¬ 
hind just as I started to mount—caught me 
with my foot in the stirrup/’ 

John paused, panting hard to gain breath 
for speech, then went on with jerky utterance. 
“That secretary villain was at the bottom of 
it all—he put down the lantern and jumped 
in—as soon as the sailor took hold of me. I 
fought as well as I could—but it was no use— 
bundled up as I was for the ride. I guess I 
hit one of them. They both got pretty mad 
before they had me.” Another pause for 
breath, then: “Let’s get out of here before 
it’s too late. They may be back any time.” 

“Wait just a minute longer,” interposed 
Priscilla, ‘ 1 you need it. Do you know what they 
had in mind to do to you?” 

“Shanghai me, I suppose. Anyway, they 
were going to take me aboard the Canceau . 
Rutherford talked right out before me, when 
they had me bound and gagged. The sailor 
he called Rafer was to ride my horse out to 
the main road, gather in the men, come back 
and get me, and wait at the boat till Rutherford 
and the captain came. They were going to 


THE KING’S POWDER 


241 


loosen Dolly and let her find her own way home. 
Oh, they had it all planned out fine. Nobody 
would ever have known what had happened to 
me!” 

Priscilla nodded. “ There wasn’t much 
chance of the plan failing, was there! One 
danger they didn’t guard against, and that was 
little me. I knew there was something behind 
the man’s politeness. Well, you’re feeling- 
better now. Let’s be going.” 

Caesar stared at them with big eyes as they 
emerged from the stall. “ It’s de young visitin ’ 
gemman whose horse I done help put up!” he 
exclaimed. 

“Yes, and now take that lantern and go on 
ahead of us back to the kitchen,” commanded 
Priscilla. “And if you say a word to any one 
about what you’ve seen here unless I give you 
permission, I’ll do something ter-r-rible to 
you!” 

“Now what!” asked the girl, when they 
reached the kitchen. 

“I’d like to take a club and wait outside for 
that secretary. I never had a chance.” 

“No, you mustn’t do that. You’ve had 


242 


THE KING’S POWDER 


trouble enough for one day. And the sooner 
you go, the sooner you’ll find Dolly. Beware 
of the sailors, won’t you?” 

“I’ll try not to be caught again, that’s sure. 
You don’t think the Sparhawks had knowledge 
of this?” 

“No, indeed! It was those two wicked men 
from the ship. Now hurry! You can go out 
by the side door and cut round the wing. If 
3'OU keep outside the avenue, the sailors won’t 
see you.” 

She held out her hand, and John took it, try¬ 
ing hard to think of some way to express his 
gratitude that wouldn’t seem flat and silly. And 
while he groped for the words, Priscilla urged 
him to the door, as eager now to speed him on 
his way as she had been a little before to find 
him. Before he could gather his thoughts, he 
was outside, and the door closed behind him. 


CHAPTER VII 


John called himself many unflattering names 
as he strode round the wing of Sparhawk House 
toward the avenue. The girl had saved him 
from a most frightful predicament. But for 
her sagacity and spirit, he would be lying that 
very night on board the warship, doomed to 
suffer cruel treatment and to endure heart¬ 
breaking toil for an indefinite number of years, 
—and he had not found one word of thanks to 
offer his rescuer. “She knows how I must 
feel,” he said to himself by way of consolation. 
“When I see her at home I’ll have the words 
ready. I must think now how to elude those 
devils and find Dolly. ’ ’ 

In the avenue he went cautiously, keeping 
close to the trees. He had covered two-thirds 
the distance to the highway when he caught the 
sound of voices, and made out a blur in the 
road ahead. Pressing his body against the 
outer side of one of the great elms, he waited 
with stout heart for the squad to pass. 

243 




244 


THE KING’S POWDER 


“And who is this bloke we’re arter?” one 
of the men was saying, as they came near. “A 
deserter, mebbe, or a new recruit who ain’t 
over willin’ to jine the King’s colors'?” 

“Some one the old man wants, that’s enough 
for you to know,” answered a voice that John 
recognized as Rafer’s. 

“Will he show fight, think ye?” asked an¬ 
other. 

“Naw, he’s tied up. He’ll be as easy to 
handle as a dunnage sack. Now hold yer jaw.’' 

They passed and the boy, emerging from his 
cover, made swiftly for the road. He stopped 
at the corner and peered to right and left. 
Could they have freed the horse already? 
Trusting his speed and knowledge of the re¬ 
gion, he risked the old familiar call that had 
often brought in the faithful mare from the 
pasture: “Dolly-ho! Come Dolly-ho!” He 
paused and listened. Far up the road he heard 
a whinny, and his heart leaped with joy. 

“Dolly-ho! Come Dolly-ho!” he called 
again, and moved forward in the direction from 
which the sound had come. Presently, as he 
stopped once more to listen, there fell on his 


THE KING’S POWDER 


245 


ears the sound of hoofs crunching on the frozen 
roadbed, and out of the dimness came Dolly, 
dragging her bridle, but trotting straight to 
the call. The wretches had released her, but 
she had waited for her master’s coming. 

“My best friend!” he said, as he put his 
arm about Dolly’s neck and patted the frosty 
nose. “My best friend to-day, after that witch 
Priscilla. Now for home.” 

He swung himself into the saddle and turned 
the horse’s head, happy in the thought that 
there lay between himself and the safe comfort 
of his father’s house no foes but the cold and 
the long-drawn physical strain of which he had 
no fear. Then, as a sense of his wrongs sud¬ 
denly smote him, and he saw, as by the illumina¬ 
tion of a lightning flash, that he was stealing 
away, like a wounded rabbit to his hole, leaving 
his insolent assailants to go undetected from 
the house whose hospitality they had dishon¬ 
ored—he pulled poor Dolly up again with an 
abruptness that the faithful mare must have 
felt undeserved, and wheeling about, galloped 
down the lane. The squad of sailors had 
scarcely passed round the back corner of the 



246 


THE KING’S POWDER 


house, when he reined up before the entrance, 
threw the bridle over the stone post, and flung 
open the door. 

The whole company was gathered in the 
drawing-room. The Britishers, confident that 
their captive was now safe at the boat, with 
formal bows and artificially polite phrases were 
making their adieus. Upon this scene of peace 
and amity burst the boy, blinded by indignation, 
thoughtless of consequences. He did not see 
the captain start and redden at the sight of 
him, nor did he look at the secretary, who stared 
at the apparition with mouth agape, or even 
at Priscilla, whose face showed both wonder 
and fright. Without apology for his intrusion, 
he strode directly toward the master of the 
house, who stood before the fireplace, a kindly 
host, charmed with his company and content 
with his own hospitality. 

“Colonel Sparhawk,” he said, “you are 
known as an honorable gentleman. It cannot 
have been with your consent or knowledge that 
I was set upon in your stable, bound, thrown 
into a stall, and my horse stolen ?” 

“By no means,’’ said the Colonel, with dig¬ 
nity, after a moment’s pause which he had 


THE KING’S POWDER 


247 


utilized for a survey of the set features of the 
apparition. “If such violence really happened, 
it was certainly not with my consent. ” 

“But it did happen, sir,” declared John, and 
turning, he pointed at the secretary, who stood 
with bloodless face, striving with all his 
might to devise some way of escaping from 
his predicament. “That man there, who pre¬ 
tended to go to help me out of courtesy, and a 
sailor who jumped on me suddenly from be¬ 
hind, tied me up and left me to be carried down 
later by the crew to the boat. I know what 
they were going to do, for I heard them plainly 
as they talked together.” 

“Mr. Rutherford,” said the Colonel, “can 
this be true!” 

For an instant Rutherford hesitated whether 
to pretend that it had been a prank or to deny 
the charge altogether. By some devil’s art the 
boy had escaped, but there was no one here to 
witness for him. Denial seemed the proper 
card to play. 

“Colonel Sparhawk,” he said, with a smile 
of complacency, “you certainly will not be¬ 
lieve me guilty of gross discourtesy to you on 
such a wild charge. As you know, I was absent 


248 


THE KING’S POWDER 


in the stable only a few minutes. You heard 
the horse pass the house some time ago. Why 
should I make an unprovoked assault on a 
young man whom I have met only this evening 
and to whom, as you doubtless have perceived, I 
have sought to be affable ? The boy has fallen 
from his horse and hurt his head. Or else he is 
inventing a story to throw discredit on us whom 
he probably believes to be the enemies of his 
colony. The charitable view is that he is 
dreaming/ ’ 

“Did I dream this?” demanded John, 
fiercely, pulling up his sleeve to show the red 
mark left by the cords. “Did I dream the ex¬ 
istence of the four sailors who passed as I hid 
behind a tree in the avenue and are even now 
hunting for me in the stable! Did I dream of 
finding my horse in the road and riding her 
back here ?’ ’ 

“Samuel,” said Colonel Sparhawk quietly, 
turning to his son. “Oblige me by going to 
the stable to see if there are any men there?” 
And addressing the captain, he asked: “What 
think you of all this, Captain Mowatt? It 
seems hardly believable that your men would 
try to impress a guest at my house.” 



MM 




“You CANNOT FRIGHTEN ME, CAPTAIN MoWATTl 


Page 249 








THE KING’S POWDER 


249 


“Not by my orders, sir,” answered the cap¬ 
tain. “If such a thing was done, they will be 
punished.” 

“For not succeeding, I suppose,” exclaimed 
John. 

The captain took a step forward and raising 
a clenched hand glared at the insolent youngster, 
but the boy faced him squarely. 

“You cannot frighten me, Captain Mowatt,” 
he said. “I know that the men who talked over 
my head as I lay bundled in the blanket counted 
you in the plot and expected to meet you at 
the boat.” 

The captain regained control over himself 
with an effort. “Sir,” he said, addressing 
Colonel Sparhawk, “I hope you will have suf¬ 
ficient confidence in the word of a royal officer 
to believe me when I declare that I have never 
directly or indirectly tried to impress this fan¬ 
atic boy. He seems to me to be suffering from 
some monstrous delusion.” 

A look of contempt flashed across John’s face; 
he felt sure that the captain was uttering a 
falsehood, but the respect for authority and age 
to which boys of his day and kind were trained 
checked the retort upon his lips. “All I can 


250 


THE KING’S POWDER 


say, then,” he declared, “is that Captain Mo- 
watt ’s men make very light of his name. ’ 9 

“Let me see,” began Colonel Sparhawk de¬ 
liberately. “Yon say that the two men left 
yon bound and muffled with a blanket in the 
stall, and took away your horse. Yet within 
a short time you come riding up to the door. 
How could you have released yourself, escaped, 
discovered your horse in the dark, and re¬ 
turned here so quickly?” 

John saw the looks of scornful amusement 
exchanged by the officers. He saw also that 
young Mrs. Sparhawk, who had been listening 
intently, so absorbed in the strange scene that 
she actually felt no impulse to speak, now 
threw herself back in her chair. “How in¬ 
deed ! ’’ she exclaimed, and burst into a scornful 
laugh. 

“That is precisely the question I should have 
asked,” observed the captain, who now felt 
better at ease. “I can assure you, Colonel, that 
if one of my sailors made the knots, as he pre¬ 
tends, they would not be easily cast off.” 

It was clear that the case was going against 
the complainant. John perceived that he was 
to accomplish nothing by his return except his 


THE KING’S POWDER 


251 


own humiliation. No one could help him ex¬ 
cept Priscilla, who had urged him to make all 
haste homeward, and now must be chagrined 
enough to see him acting the part of a dis¬ 
credited fool in her friends’ drawing-room. 
He glanced at her, but she did not meet his eye. 
With instinctive chivalry he recognized that if 
she did not wish to acknowledge her connection 
with the matter, it was not for him to force her 
lips. It had been a mad impulse to return; he 
must bear the consequences alone. 

“My horse came to my call,” he said 
doggedly. “I do not care to say how I got 
away. I came back to tell you, sir, how your 
guests have abused your hospitality. If you do 
not wish to know, or do not believe my word, the 
sooner I am gone the better. Whatever you 
may think of me, pray believe that I am grate¬ 
ful to you for your kindness, and know that you 
will not countenance this plot against me.” 

‘ 4 ‘Plot against me!’ ” interjected Rutherford 
in a very audible aside. “Heard you that, 
Captain? Faith, Mis like a scene from a play.” 

The blood leaped into the boy’s face at the 
words. “As for these gentlemen and men of 
honor,” he burst out, “they have at least taught 


252 


THE KING’S POWDER 


me a lesson in the methods of onr British ty¬ 
rants that I sha ’n’t soon forget! ’ ’ 

Colonel Sparhawk lifted his hand. “Not so 
warmly, young man. You forget that Captain 
Mowatt has given his word that he knows noth¬ 
ing of any attempt to impress you. Let us 
await my son’s return from the stable.” 

“Is it necessary for him to stay, Colonel?” 
put in young Mrs. Sparhawk. “He has a long 
journey before him and he has told us all he 
has to say.” 

At this broad hint John bowed and turned to 
go, smarting under the sneer, yet recognizing 
the folly of continuing to argue a lost cause. 
But as he turned, Priscilla glided up beside him, 
and checking him with a hand upon his arm, 
looked up with flashing eyes into the old man’s 
face. “Not until I give my evidence, if you 
please, Colonel iSparhawk,” she said, boldly. 
“It was I who released him. I cut his bonds 
with a knife I took from the kitchen. We found 
him in the stall just as he has said. Caesar 
was with me. So you see there are two wit¬ 
nesses to a part of his story at any rate. Mr. 
Rutherford”—here she curtsied mockingly to 


THE KING’S POWDER 


253 


the dumfounded secretary—“can doubtless 
testify to what occurred before we came, if he 
will.’ ’ 

“Why, Priscilla!” exclaimed the Colonel, in 
amazement, “How came you there V 9 

“I suspected something was wrong,’ ’ she an¬ 
swered demurely, “and when I saw Dolly 
prancing past the window with a man sprawling 
over her neck, I knew the rider couldn’t be John, 
and went to investigate. I am quite certain 
that you will not doubt my word, Colonel Spar- 
hawk. 9 ’ 

“My dear Priscilla ,’’ began Colonel Spar- 
hawk, in his formal, courteous fashion, but 
broke off immediately, for just at the moment 
Samuel returned, wearing an expression of be¬ 
wilderment and concern. 

“The men are there,” he announced, “and 
they seem unready to explain why. One said 
they had come for something, another for some¬ 
body, and the leader insisted that they were 
just hanging round, waiting for the captain, 
though why in the stable I do not see. ’Tis 
very mysterious . 9 ’ 

This time it was John who laughed, an ex- 


254 


THE KING’S POWDER 


plosion of relieved nerves, spiteful and derisive. 

‘ 4 Very/’ he said, “ except on the assumption 
that I am telling the truth. ’ ’ 

And while Samuel stared about the circle, 
waiting for some one to enlighten him as to 
what had occurred during his absence, Captain 
Mowatt who had, after the manner of his pro¬ 
fession, decided promptly on a change of tactics 
to meet the turn in the conditions of battle, ad¬ 
dressed his deliberate host. “Colonel Spar- 
hawk, let me take upon myself the task of solv¬ 
ing this strange problem. It looks to me as if 
some deviltry has been going on here in which 
my men are concerned. If they have mistreated 
this young man, I ask his pardon and yours. 
I shall learn the. facts as soon as I have the men 
on board, and if they are guilty, rest assured 
that they will be punished. With your permis¬ 
sion I will send them on ahead. Mr. Ruther¬ 
ford, take the men down to the boat. I will 
follow immediately.” 

The look with which the gracious captain 
accompanied this direction to his secretary 
might well have passed for stern. In fact it 
bade him delay not an instant. 

“If you please, Colonel,” interposed John, 


THE KING’S POWDER 


255 


“permit me to go first. It will be safer for me 
to have them behind than before me.” 

With these words he gave Priscilla’s hand a 
fierce grip, and with no further pretense to cere¬ 
mony—for which, indeed, he had by this time 
come to feel a profound disgust—took himself 
off. A moment after the door closed behind 
him the sound of galloping hoof-beats up the 
avenue showed that Dolly was making a strong 
start on her homeward way. 

The captain soon took his leave, making pro¬ 
fuse apologies for the behavior of his men and 
protesting that he would have the truth out of 
them if he had to “keelhaul” the whole crew! 
Colonel Sparhawk did not announce his verdict 
on the affair either then or later. Young Mrs. 
Sparhawk, on the other hand, had much to say 
after the departure of the guests, asserting at 
the outset her conviction that the whole story 
had been cooked up by the boy to rriake himself 
important, and concluding with the opinion that 
he was a vastly rude fellow who would be the 
better for a year or two of discipline in His 
Majesty’s navy. In her room up-stairs Miss 
Mary made Priscilla repeat her account at 
length, and lamented that such a courteous and 


256 


THE KING’S POWDER 


honorable gentleman as Captain Mowatt 
should be imposed upon by his subordinates. 

“ And do you really think he knew nothing at 
all about it? ” asked Priscilla, wondering. 

“No more than my father,” was Mary’s em¬ 
phatic answer. “I think the captain’s conduct 
under the circumstances reflects great credit 
on him. In trying to throw suspicion on Cap¬ 
tain Mowatt your young man showed himself 
very unfair, and I might almost add insolent. 
But he had had a trying experience, poor fellow! 
When you see him again tell him that I deeply 
regret the occurrence, and trust that he suffered 
no harm. Until his rather violent return I 
thought him a very agreeable youth. ’ ’ 


CHAPTER VIII 


When Priscilla came home on Tuesday, she 
brought with her a letter of courtesy and regret 
from Colonel Sparhawk which she was to de¬ 
liver into John’s hands. Having performed 
this duty, she insisted that he read it in her 
presence and then quite naturally asked as to 
the contents. When John undertook to tease 
her by pretending that the letter touched upon 
private and secret matters, she merely tossed 
her head and remarked that if privacy was what 
he wanted, she would have done better to leave 
him trussed up in the stall; he would have had 
his fill of privacy on hoard the Canceau. At 
that the young man changed his attitude at 
once, and gave her the letter to read. 

44 Just as I thought,” she said, as she handed 
it back. “I didn’t need to read it at all.” 

4 4 He thinks the captain is wholly innocent and 
all the trouble was caused by the secretary, and 
a vile boatswain’s mate who wanted a com- 

257 


258 


THE KING’S POWDER 


mission on a new member of the crew/’ said 
John, gloomily. 

“He doesn’t say so,” returned Priscilla. 
“He just repeats the explanation given by the 
captain, and passes on the captain’s apologies 
with his own.” 

“Well, they all believe it, anyway.” 

Priscilla laughed aloud. “Miss Mary does, 
certainly. She is very indignant with that 
sallow-faced secretary, who won’t be seen again 
at Sparhawk House, I can assure you. But the 
captain—oh, he’s a knight without reproach, 
imposed upon by his wicked men! To tell the 
truth, I suspect she’s just a little bit in love with 
that captain.” 

“Why didn’t you explain it to her?” 

“I explain it to Miss Mary! What are you 
thinking of? I really believe boys are the 
stupidest animals in the world. I just sat mum, 
and let her say whatever she would; and as 
she didn’t ask me what I thought, I didn’t 
volunteer my opinion. But Colonel Sparhawk 
—I’m not so certain about him.” 

“Why not? They are all tarred with the 
same stick, aren’t they?” 

“All except the Colonel. I think he suspects. 


THE KING’S POWDER 


259 


He had me into his office this morning and asked 
me questions. All the sons are Tories. It’s 
hard on the colonel, but I really think he is at 
heart on our side, though he won’t say so. The 
attack on you opened his eyes.” 

“Not very wide, I guess. He didn’t show 
any patriotic feeling while I was around.” 

“He’s in a trying position. Let me tell you 
something that befell. Last Saturday an of¬ 
ficer came from the Scarborough to borrow the 
Sparhawk boats. The captain had sent a letter 
the day before to ask for them. When the 
man came there wasn’t a boat to be found ex¬ 
cept the one needed by the family. All the 
Colonel said was, ‘Aren’t they at the landing? 
They were there last night.’ And the officer 
didn’t get what he came for. I didn’t hear any 
inquiry afterwards as to what had become of 
the boats. Colonel Sparhawk must have known 
where they were.” 

“He seems to be trying to play with both 
sides.” 

“What think you he asked me this morning? 
Whether you were with the men who took the 
powder! ’ ’ 

“What of it?” 


260 


THE KING’S POWDER 


“Only that he sees what the men wanted you 
for. They weren’t trying to impress you—the 
captain told the truth there, I am sure—they 
were trying to get you into their hands so they 
could find out from you where the powder went 
to.” 

John stared. “What folly!” he exclaimed. 
‘‘ How could they know I know 1 ’ ’ 

“They could send a spy to Durham to find 
out—everybody there knows you know,” an¬ 
swered Priscilla, confidently. 4 ‘ And they could 
send you to England in chains to be tried if 
you didn’t tell. It’s a hanging matter, and a 
boy, even if he isn’t very bright, is better than 
no culprit at all. They couldn’t come to Dur¬ 
ham to fetch my father or Deacon Thompson. 
You put yourself in their clutches, and they 
clutched. ’ ’ 

“That’s true, at all events,” said John, after 
a pause. ‘ ‘ There’s no doubt about their clutch¬ 
ing, but I can’t hold with your explanation. 
If it weren’t that your guesses are so often 
right, I’d say you were all wrong. I can still 
think so, though I do not say it.” 

‘ ‘ I care not what you think or what you say, ’ ’ 
retorted the girl, “as long as you act sensibly. 


THE KING’S POWDER 


261 


Keep away from places where you may meet the 
Canceau people. That is what the Colonel said, 
and that is what I say. They tried to seize you 
once and theyTl try again if you give them the 
chance.” 

“TheyTl be put to it to get the chance,” 
assented John, with a grin. 4 ‘Think you I’m 
likely to go down to Warehouse Point and sit 
on a pile till they come to seize me? It was 
the merest stroke of bad luck that put me in 
their hands. The Canceau won’t come sailing- 
up the river to take me here.” 

“The Canceau, no, but some of her men, yes,” 
persisted Priscilla, who was growing impatient 
with her auditor. “I should really feel vexed 
if you got yourself hanged now after I have 
had all this trouble to save you once.” 

“Thank you,” said the boy, with a mocking 
bow. “I should hate to have you vexed about 
a little thing like that. On the whole, I pre¬ 
fer not to be hanged myself.” 

“And you will be careful?” 

“As careful as I know how to be.” 

4 4 Which is little enough! I can see you still 
think I’m on a false scent. After all I’ve said 
and what the Colonel said, you still believe those 


262 


THE KING’S POWDER 


people just wanted to carry you off to till a 
vacancy in the crew. Isn’t that so? Tell me 
the truth now, honor bright.” 

John hesitated a little. “Well, yes, if you 
must know. I really doubt if I’m of conse¬ 
quence enough to be a political prisoner.” 

Priscilla stamped her foot with annoyance. 
“There are none so blind as those who won’t 
see! Why should they pass by all those strong 
experienced sailors in the fishing-smacks who 
could be impressed without any risk, and set 
on an unknown young man who isn’t a sailor 
at all, but a chance guest with them at a gentle¬ 
man’s house? ’T is absurd!” 

“It does seem so when you put it that way, 
but the other explanation is also absurd. Why 
this pother about a few barrels of powder? 
They have all they want.” 

“Yes, but we have very little and they want 
us to have none at all. What they seek is to 
keep us from it, not to use it themselves. Why, 
if they thought there was powder hid in the 
meeting-house, they’d burn the meeting-house 
down to destroy the powder! They wouldn’t 
stop at anything to prevent our using it.” 

John peered apprehensively about. They 


THE KING’S POWDER 


263 


were standing at the parsonage gate, quite 
alone. “How did you know about the meeting¬ 
house ?’ ’ he asked, with a look of blank surprise 
on his face. 

Priscilla laughed slily. “Never mind. Per¬ 
haps I guessed, but I know now, anyway. Now 
tell me: could you see the man who attacked 
you in the stable ?” 

“Of course.” 

“What was he like?” 

“A big man dressed in sailor’s togs. I had 
the impression at the time that I had seen 
him before, but I was mad all through, and 
could think of naught but how to get clear.” 

“Where had you seen him before?” 

“I don’t know. Perhaps in Portsmouth. He 
was like scores of others who ship up and down 
the coast in schooners or sign up for a fishing 
trip to the banks. He may have been a regular 
in the navy for all I know.” 

“Try to remember,” said Priscilla. “You 
may connect him with something that will sug¬ 
gest what they wanted you for. "Was it in 
Durham that you saw him ? ’ ’ 

John cudgeled his brains to recall the fleet¬ 
ing impression and to identify in time and place 


264 


THE KING’S POWDER 


the vague remembrance conjured up by the 
sight of his assailant’s face. His efforts were 
vain. “I can’t remember,” he said finally, as 
he turned to go. “What difference does it 
make, anyway! ’ ’ 

A few weeks passed. Winter was relaxing 
its grip; and though the ice still lay spread thick 
upon the rivers, the morning sun shone warm 
on sheltered southern exposures and the fields 
were throwing off their covering of snow. 
Farmers who had sugar orchards were over¬ 
hauling their equipment. John Spencer was 
centering all his thoughts on the sugar-house 
in the river grove which he was to manage this 
year for his father. The Canceau had been 
out of Portsmouth harbor for a fortnight, 
cruising farther south. With her departure 
Priscilla’s fantastic fears had lost all power to 
cause uneasiness and John took no more in¬ 
terest in the problem of the identity of the 
sailor. 

But one afternoon, after he had put up his 
horse and was on his way out of the stable, the 
remembrance of the unsolved problem flashed 
suddenly upon him. As he opened the stable 
door, a man stood before him. It was only old 


THE KING’S POWDER 


265 


Jed Timmins, come to do the milking, but the 
sight of the figure brought back to his mind the 
other occasion, weeks before, when he had 
opened the same door and come unexpectedly on 
a similar figure. He knew now where he had 
seen the man who treated him so roughly at 
Sparhawk House,—the runaway sailor looking 
for a job! The fellow had been in Durham, 
had seen him, and had gone back to his ship. 
He could not have been a bona fide deserter, or 
he would not have returned to the ship, much 
less appeared as a trusty in the service of 
the kidnappers. Could it be that Priscilla 
was right in another of her wonderful 
guesses? 

If John Spencer lacked the quickness of per¬ 
ception possessed by the parson’s daughter, 
he was at least open-minded and endowed with 
average reasoning power. Pie saw immediately 
that if the pretended deserter had really been 
tracking him, some one must have put him on 
the scent. How could a stranger in the village 
have secured information without making him¬ 
self an object of suspicion? John could think 
of but one way of doing this, and that was to 
mingle with the people who frequented Stubbs’ 


266 


THE KING’S POWDER 


Tavern, where a stranger would naturally stop, 
and listen to the general talk that flowed there 
without restraint. On the next day, therefore, 
at an hour when the barroom was likely to be 
empty, John called on Hezekiah Stubbs and 
put his questions. 

Yes, Stubbs remembered the sailor; Butler, 
of Nottingham, dropped him from his team as 
he drove through. He stayed over night and 
went off to look for work. Stubbs remembered 
well because the man had treated Plank Bean, 
who didn’t often find any one to pay for his 
drink. Was he there in the evening? Yes, 
but as Stubbs himself was always busy in the 
evening, he didn’t notice who the man talked 
with. What was the matter, anyway? Any¬ 
thing wrong about the fellow? 

John got away without committing himself, 
and also without the information which he had 
hoped to obtain. It was true that the sailor 
had been there, had treated Hank, had heard 
the conversation indulged in by the frequenters 
of the tavern, but that was all. There was no 
proof that his attention had been drawn to 
John Spencer as one of those who knew the 
hiding-place of the powder. Hank might have 


THE KING’S POWDER 


267 


told him of his suspicions and might not. If 
he had done so, no confirmation could be got 
from Hank who had no more respect for truth¬ 
telling than for steady habits of work. After 
all, the danger of personal attack was past. 
Whoever or whatever set the Britishers upon 
him, they had had their chance and failed. The 
whole thing was a mystery and he would do 
well to let it go as such. 

Still the question returned to puzzle him. It 
was in his mind as he came upon Hank in worn 
foxskin cap and dilapidated sheepskin jacket 
slouching through Gideon Spencer ’s gate. 
John stopped him, thinking to start a conversa¬ 
tion that might lead to the incident of the de¬ 
serter at the tavern. But Hank forestalled 
him. 

“I jest been to see your father ’bout 
sugarin’,” he began in a beseeching voice. 
“He says you’re doin’ it this year. I want a 
job suthin’ turrible. We ’ain’t got nothin’ 
much to eat to home, and I’ve got to earn 
suthin’ or my fam’ly ’ll starve.” 

John looked at him in silence. There was 
nothing improbable in Hank’s statement. His 
family was always on the verge of starvation. 


268 


THE KING’S POWDER 


“If your family is suffering,” he said at length, 
“my mother will give you a basket to take 
home. She has done it before, hasn’t she?” 

“Yes, sartain,” sniffled Hank, “she’s been 
very good to us, and I’m grateful, but I want to 
work. I ain’t very strong, I can’t stand chop- 
pin’, but I kin work on the barges when the ice 
goes out, and I’m good at sugarin’. Amos 
Lyford’ll tell you so if you ask him. I helped 
him last spring, but his boy is back this year 
and he don’t need me.” 

Again John had to give the untruthful Hank 
the credit of speaking at least the partial truth. 
That whine about being too weak for hard 
work like chopping was as familiar to any one 
who knew Hank as his greasy foxskin cap. 
Whether he was wholly or only partially to 
blame for his physical weakness might be a sub¬ 
ject for debate, but there could be no question 
that he took to the irregular life in the woods 
like a half-breed voyageur. For help in a sugar 
camp Hank was as good as a better man. 

“You ain’t goin’ to hold agin me what hap¬ 
pened that night,” he pleaded. “Your father 
said he wouldn’t. He’s a gentleman and a 


THE KING’S POWDER 269 

Christian. I jest went with the crowd. I was 
tipsy, and not reely responsible.’’ 

“You were responsible for being drunk,” re¬ 
torted John. “How do I know you won’t be 
drunk again while you’re working for me?” 

“I don’t drink in the woods. It’s only when 
I have to hang round home that I drink. I have 
such hard luck. Everybody is agin me, and I 
can’t earn enough to get the children food, let 
alone clo’es.” 

“So you drink and let your wife work. I 
know all about it. Well, I’ll talk to my father 
and see what he says. You can come over to¬ 
morrow early and I’ll give you my answer.” 

“Thank ye kindly,” said Hank humbly. “I 
jest want you to try me. No one round here 
knows any more about that job than I do.” 

“Hank!” said the boy suddenly. “Do you 
remember being in Stubbs’s Tavern one after¬ 
noon about six weeks ago when a sailor came 
in and treated you?” 

Hank nodded assent. The event was too re¬ 
markable to be forgotten. 

“Did you talk much with him?” 

“Not much. He said he’d run away from 


270 


THE KING’S POWDER 


the warships and was lookup for a job. I told 
him your father might give him one. Wan’t 
that all right ?” 

“Did he say anything about me?” 

“I dunno’s he did. He jest talked general 
like. ’ ’ 

“Did he mention the powder?” 

“The powder from Porchmuth?” Hank 
pulled off his cap and scratched his unkempt 
head. “He may have. Everybody was talkin’ 
about it then. If he did, I can’t say’s I recol¬ 
lect anything he said.” 

‘ 1 Have you seen him since ? ’ ’ 

/ 

“Never laid eyes on him ’cept that onct. 
What do you want to know for?” 

“Just curiosity. I told him to come back 
and see Father, and he didn’t turn up.” 

“Mebbe he got a job down Dover way,” said 
Hank. Then, recurring to the main issue, he 
fell again into his plaintive whine. “About 
the sugarin’, now. I hope you’ll give me the 
chanct, for the wife’s sake and jest to show you 
’ain’t got no hard feelin’ agin me. We’ve got 
to live, the same’s other people, and I’d a sight 
ruther live honest than t’other way. It ’ud 


THE KING’S POWDER 


271 


help me over a week or two if I had the job!” 

‘ 4 To-morrow morning,” said John, 4 ‘and 
mind you, I don’t make any promise except to 
think it over. ’ ’ 


CHAPTER IX 


The Spencer elders supported Hank’s peti¬ 
tion, the mother because she knew well the per¬ 
petual need of the man’s family and considered 
him safer from temptation in the woods than 
anywhere else, the father because he would 
rather pay for services rendered than give 
doles to the idle. So when Hank appeared next 
morning, he was promptly engaged. The heavy 
one-horse wagon was got out, on it was loaded 
a strong stubby sled—the snow was already 
gone from the roads—the collecting-cask and 
various utensils were stored inside, and away 
drove Hank in independent state to put the 
sugar-house in order. 

Hank was feeling happy over his success in 
landing an agreeable job, and even rather 
kindly disposed toward young John whom he 
usually regarded with the malevolence of the 
worthless toward the prosperous. He jolted 
leisurely along on the rutty road toward Bick¬ 
ford’s ferry, thinking vaguely of the work be- 

272 


THE KING’S POWDER 


273 


fore him and complacently dwelling on the fact 
that, for one day at least, he was to be his own 
taskmaster. As he approached the point at 
which branched off the lane that led to the 
Spencer woods, he saw a man ahead coming 
from the direction of the ferry. Drawing 
nearer, he recognized with surprise in the ap¬ 
proaching pedestrian the person of the mys¬ 
terious sailor. 

‘ 4 Whoa there!” he called to the horse. 
“Wal, I declare if it ain’t you! Where you 
cornin’ from?” 

i ‘Hello, Hank!” sang out Rafer cordially. 
He nodded backward with his head. “Been 
workin’ for a spell over on the Newington side. 
How are you gettin’ on?” 

Hank’s morning complacency was not proof 
against this direct reminder of his usually for¬ 
lorn lot. His jaw drooped. “Not very well. 
It’s been a terrible hard winter for a poor 
man. I’m just draggin’ along.” 

“That your rig?” 

“No. Belongs to Gideon Spencer. I’m 
goin’ in there”—he pointed to the woods 
stretching away on his left—“to make ready 
for sap-bilin’.” 


274 


THE KING'S POWDER 


“All by yourself?” 

“For to-day. The boy’s cornin’ over to¬ 
morrow. I’m workin’ for him. John’s his 
name. He’s the boy you see when you tried 
to get old Spencer to hire ye. You recollect 
my p’intin’ out the house to ye, don’t ye?” 

“Of course I do,” answered Rafer. His 
look passed swiftly from Hank’s face to the 
distant woods that hid the sugar-house. Some¬ 
where beyond them lay the river, where the ice 
would soon be breaking up. Quite naturally 
there emerged in the sailor’s mind a scheme 
which seemed so practicable and safe that he 
had difficulty to restrain a cry of exultation as 
he dwelt upon it. Hank observed the man 
shrewdly, as he stood in silence gazing toward 
the woods, and drew what seemed a sage con¬ 
clusion. 

“Tain’t no use at all,” he volunteered, shak¬ 
ing his head solemnly. “He won’t take you on. 
Me and him can tend to everything that has to 
be done.” 

“Well, I’d like to go down and see the place, 
anyway,” said Rafer. “If you’re willin’, I’ll 
ride in with you. Mebbe I can get a chance 
somewhere else.” 


THE KING’S POWDER 


275 


To this proposal Hank had no objection to 
make. On the way into the woods he explained 
how the work was managed. On the first day 
he would put things to rights, see that the 
buckets were ready, and get up as much fuel 
as he had time for. On the next day the boy 
would come out with him and both would work 
on the firewood, or, if it were warm, begin to 
tap the trees. “When we begin bilin’,” he 
added, “I’ll stay here all the time as long as the 
sap runs good, and the boy will come in every 
morning with the hoss, and gather up. He’ll 
go back at night and leave me here alone. I’m 
reel good at tendin’ fires at night. I kin sleep 
a couple of hours at a stretch and wake up to 
fix the fires and go right off to sleep agin, and 
keep it up for days like that. If so be as I get 
real sleepy, I kin take a little nap in the daytime, 
but most usually I don’t need it. You see there 
wouldn’t be no work for another man, as long 
as the boy comes every day. And then again, 
it takes an experienced hand to do sugarin’, and 
you don’t know nothin ’ about the work. ’ ’ 

“How long will it last?” 

“Oh, two or three weeks. It all depends on 
the weather. I’d be willin’ to have it last all 


276 


THE KING’S POWDER 


summer. Marm Spencer gives you good vit- 
tels, I’ll say that much for her.” 

They went on in silence along the sheltered 
way within the woods. The wagon wheels bit 
deeply into the crusted snow, lunging into hol¬ 
lows and jolting over roots of trees. 

“Tain’t far,” said Hank presently. “ You ’ll 
see the shanty in a minute. Wrong place to 
build it, I say. It ought to be down there nigh 
on to the river. ’ ’ He gave a sweep with his left 
hand, hastily clutching the reins again as the 
front wheels struck a stone hidden in the snow. 
“Then we could haul the sap and wood down¬ 
hill and not up, which would be a sight easier. 
They didn’t show no gumption when they built 
it.—There ’tis now!” 

Hank stopped his horsfe beside a weather¬ 
beaten structure of rough boards, thatched with 
long hand-split shingles of pine. Kicking 
away the obstructing snow, he opened the door 
and led the way inside. At one end stood the 
huge kettle, set in a framework of brick with a 
chimney flue at the back; beside it a hogshead 
that served as a receptacle for the sap. At the 
other end of the shed, fronting the opening into 
the firebox, had been built a low platform of 


THE KING’S POWDER 


277 


heavy poles on which were stored piles of buck¬ 
ets and other paraphernalia connected with 
sugar-making. 

“All this truck comes off when we get to 
work,” explained Hank, pointing to the plat¬ 
form. “When you get fresh boughs and blan¬ 
kets on the poles, you have as nice a bed as you 
can ask for, a sight better than them hard bunks 
you have to sleep in aboard ship.” He turned 
to look with manifest disapproval at the rusty 
kettle. “That’s the meanest job of the sea¬ 
son. I’ve got to melt snow and scour that 
plaguey thing out with ashes. It’ll take a lot 
of work.” 

Rafer pulled out a flask. “Have a bracer 
afore you start in,” he said. 

Hank, nothing loth, took a long pull, and 
watched with greedy eyes as the sailor himself 
drank and restored the flask to his pocket. It 
was no part of Rafer’s plan to render Hank 
unfit for his work. “Have many visitors!” 
he asked. 

“Nobody ever comes here outside of a boy or 
two now and then to beg a drink out of the kit¬ 
tle,” answered Hank, inclined to be surly at 
what he considered the sailor’s niggardliness. 


278 


THE KING’S POWDER 


“ Makes no difference to me. I never get lone¬ 
some in the woods ’less I have to chop all day. 
I ain’t strong enough for that.” 

Rafer laughed and slapped him on the back. 
“Rather drink than work, eh, Hank? Same 
here. Well, I’d better be off or I’ll keep you 
from working, and then your young boss will 
trounce you.” 

“I guess not,” boasted Hank. “He ain’t 
goin’ to boss me, I can tell ye! I’ll do my work 
in my own way, and he ain’t man enough to 
make me do his ’n. I know this here job better ’n 
he does, and if he gets waxy, I’ll give him a 
lesson.” 

“No use quarreling with the officer of the 
watch, Hank,” said Rafer, wisely. “It don’t 
pay. And yuu’d better not say anything to 
him about my being here. Some night when 
you get going well, I might want to come out 
here with a bottle of grog and give you a good 
time. He’d suspect something if he knew 
you’d had a Sailor man to visit you.” 

“All right, if you say so,” answered Hank, 
and waited, expectant, for the reappearance of 
the flask. Pie was disappointed, for Rafer had 


THE KING’S POWDER 


279 


evidently forgotten about the treasure he car¬ 
ried in the pocket of his jacket. 

4 ‘ I think I ’ll take a turn through your woods 
and th&i tack across to the road,” Rafer said, 
turning to the door. “What time will the boy 
be liable to start home of a night?” 

“He’ll go early so as to get home for supper. 
Mebbe about five.” 

“Then I’ll look in on you some night about 
dusk. Mind you don’t let on that you’ve had 
any one here, or you may get sacked.” 

So Rafer departed, leaving Hank to pursue 
his tasks unhindered by the conversation of 
friends and undrugged by liquor. He steered 
a course by dead reckoning through the woods 
to the river, where he wandered up and down 
the stream as if he were looking for landmarks. 
At one point he even trusted himself to the 
shore ice to see how the bank appeared from 
the river. Solid as the ice sheet seemed under 
his weight, he knew that aided by the wrenching 
and heaving of the tide, a few warm days would 
free the water from its winter cover, now that 
the strong current had already cleared the chan¬ 
nel in the main river below. Satisfied at last 


280 


THE KING’S POWDER 


that he had found what he was looking for, he 
trudged across country to the main road, re¬ 
freshed himself at Bickford’s tavern by the 
ferry, and crossing Little Bay, set his face and 
his steps, laggard from the unwonted journey¬ 
ing, toward Portsmouth and the sloop-of-war 
Canceau. 

On the same morning John met Priscilla as 
she was returning from a visit to one of her 
father’s flock who lived beyond the Spencers’. 
Turning, he walked with her toward the par¬ 
sonage, glad to have as an excuse for conversa¬ 
tion the urgent necessity of explaining that the 
sugar season was opening, and that the minis¬ 
ter might count, as usual, on a gift of syrup 
from the first run. 

“I don’t know whether to thank you now, or 
wait till we get the syrup,” said the girl ro¬ 
guishly. “ People have a way of forgetting 
promises made to the minister.” 

“My mother wouldn’t forget, even if I did,” 
John replied. 

“Yes, I’d surely trust any promise of hers.” 

“But not of mine?” 

“Not all. You promised you would be care¬ 
ful not to put yourself in danger from those 


THE KING’S POWDER 


281 


Canceau people again. Now you are going off 
to stay alone in the woods where you cannot 
be careful.” 

John laughed. “What place could be safer 
from them than the woods! Besides, I sha’n’t 
be alone. Hank Bean is going in with me.” 

“Hank Bean! Why, he is little better than 
no one at all.” 

“Oh, yes he is. He’s very useful in the 
sugar-house. Pie’s the best night watch you 
could find—doesn’t seem to need any sleep at 
all.” 

“I’m glad to learn that he’s good for some¬ 
thing,” replied Priscilla. She was alarmed 
at what she instinctively feflt might prove a 
dangerous situation for one who had incurred 
the enmity of unscrupulous foes. At the same 
time she recognized that her vague fears, how¬ 
ever real in her own mind, would appear to her 
companion merely ridiculous. She said noth¬ 
ing more, therefore, about the possibility of 
danger, but took up suddenly a wholly different 
topic. 

“How is that big friend of yours in Exeter, 
the blacksmith! I haven’t heard you speak of 
him lately.” 


282 


THE KING’S POWDER 


“No, I haven’t seen him for a long time. He 
writes occasionally.” 

“Can he really write?” asked the smiling 
Priscilla. “I can imagine him carrying off 
the gates of Gaza, like Samson, but not seated 
at a desk with a quill in his big fist.” 

“Yes, he can write,” retorted John. “Let 
me tell you, too, that he’s nobody’s fool, even 
if he wasn’t a quick scholar in school. You’re 
prejudiced against him because he’s working in 
a blacksmith’s shop. I really shouldn’t have 
thought you could be so narrow-minded. It 
isn’t good for you to visit those fine friends of 
yours in Kittery. ’ ’ 

“I notice that you don’t invite him here to 
visit you?” answered Priscilla demurely. 

“Why should I invite him? There’s nothing 
interesting going on here.” 

“If you really wanted his company, you 
would find reason enough. I should think he 
would enjoy a few days at your sugar-house. 
I’m sure I should, if I were a boy.” 

John stopped abruptly. “Gosh, that’s an 
idea! It’s just the thing he would like. I must 
get a letter to him.” 

“If you mean it, you’d better hurry. He 


THE KING’S POWDER 


283 


will want to ask leave of his employer. 
The carrier goes on Thursdays, you know. 
You’ll have time to change your mind before 
then, if you conclude that I’m right after all 
and that you don’t really want him.” 

“But I do,” protested John. 

Whereat Priscilla laughed skeptically and 
let herself in at the parsonage gate, pleased 
with the success of her little ruse, and hopeful 
that Zeb would come early and stay long. 


CHAPTER X 


The activity at the sugar camp went on very 
satisfactorily for more than a week. Then 
when John arrived one morning to take over 
from the night man, he found the tire reduced 
to ashes, and Hank stretched on the hemlock 
houghs dead asleep. It required no genius to 
perceive that Hank had been drinking. Taxed 
with the fact, Hank admitted it readily, say¬ 
ing that an unknown man had appeared and 
tempted him. As the kettle had been freshly 
tilled the evening before, no harm had been done. 
In view, therefore, of the man’s usefulness and 
evident contrition, as well as the fact that a 
substitute would be hard to find on the spur of 
the moment, John thought it best to overlook 
the fault. It was no more than one had to 
expect in dealing with a man like Hank. “If it 
happens again, I’m through with you,” John 
announced, with all the sternness he could put 
into his voice. “I won’t have you using the 


THE KING’S POWDER 285 

place to booze with your friends. Such a thing 
never happened here before.” 

“He wa’n’t my friend!” protested the 
bleary-eyed old wreck. “He wuz a puffect 
stranger to me—jest happened in here after 
you left. I tried not to drink, I swear it, but 
the smell of the bottle got me.” 

“What kind of a man! Had you ever seen 
him before?” 

“Never!” declared Hank, solemnly, “never 
set eyes on him before in my life. He was a 
big tall chap with a red beard, goin’ some- 
wheres up Nott’n’am way to work on a farm. 
He said some one along the road told him he 
could find a place to sleep in here. He didn’t 
steal nothin’ and I didn’t know when he 
left.” 

“He might have walked off with everything 
here for all you knew,” said John in disgust. 
“He probably went through your pockets.” 

“I dunno. If he did, he didn’t find nothin’.” 
With heavy eyes Hank looked about on the fix¬ 
tures of the camp, seeking to discover what 
there was in the place that any one would con¬ 
sider worth stealing. Obviously the camp out¬ 
fit offered poor pickings for a thief, but Hank 


286 


THE KING’S POWDER 


did not attempt to argue the question further, 
holding it the wiser course, in view of his easy 
job in the woods and the generous rations that 
went with it, not to stir the youth to anger. In 
some way he got through the work of the day, 
as meek and obedient as a whipped dog. 

With more amusement than anger John con¬ 
fided to Priscilla the story of Hank’s lapse 
from sobriety. 

“There’s no depending on him at all when 
there’s a swig of liquor to be had,” he said, 
“but I think he’ll keep straight for the rest of 
the time. Another week will probably see the 
end of the run. His humility was really touch¬ 
ing. ’ ’ 

“But why did he lie about the man?” asked 
Priscilla. “The red beard, now, that was just 
a clumsy effort to deceive you. He didn’t want 
to describe the man accurately. Why not, if 
it was only a stranger who had blundered in on 
the camp looking for a place to sleep?” 

“I’m sure I don’t know,” answered John 
carelessly. “I think Hank’s first impulse is 
to lie, as yours or mine or any other honest per¬ 
son’s is to tell the truth. Probably he swapped 
syrup for the drinks and would not have me 


THE KING’S POWDER 


287 


know that he’s been disposing of my property.” 

“I don’t like the idea of strange people com¬ 
ing round the camp and giving Hank liquor,” 
continued Priscilla. 

‘ ‘ I don’t like it myself, but there’s little harm 
that can be done. It won’t happen again, I am 
sure. There’s naught to vex yourself about.” 
John smiled broadly as he said this, flattered 
with the thought that Priscilla should worry 
about him, and proudly conscious of his mascu¬ 
line superiority to all vague feminine fears. 

“No more than on the night at Kittery when 
you went with Rutherford to get your horse,” 
returned Priscilla, quickly. 

“When the heroine came to my rescue? I’m 
not likely to forget that.” 

Priscilla did not like this speech, and she 
marched off, with her head held high, in man¬ 
ifest displeasure. But she did worry. She 
thought deeply about the matter all through 
the evening. When she took her candle to go 
to her room for the night, she carried paper 
and ink with her, and before going to bed she 
wrote and sealed a letter. Much time was con¬ 
sumed in the composition, for she felt shy about 
communicating with a young man whom she 


288 


THE KING’S POWDER 


had barely spoken to. It tasked her ingenuity 
to satisfy her scruples and at the same time 
give force to her appeal. The next morning 
she was up early, and sought diligently until 
she found a carrier who promised to deliver 
the letter at the appointed place. 

Two days later, when John arrived at camp 
in the morning, he found Hank stretched out 
on the boughs. 

“So you’ve been at it again!” said John 
sternly, as he eyed the flabby figure. 

“Hain’t had a drop,” whined Hank. “I’m 
jest feelin’ a little sick like. I didn’t sleep at 
all last night. The vittels didn’t set jest right 
on my stomach. I’ll feel all right bime-by.” 

John glanced round. The fire was going 
merrily; everything was in order; there was 
no smell of alcohol in the air. “Go to sleep, 
then,” he said. “I’ll see to things.” 

There were the usual duties to be attended 
to. He let the fire burn down, dipped out the 
syrup, poured it into the keg which he had 
brought with him, refilled the kettle, and re¬ 
built the fire. Then he got ready a supply of 
fuel and took a look at the buckets in the neigh¬ 
borhood to see how nearly full they were. 


THE KING’S POWDER 


289 


“I’m going down the hill to collect,” he said 
at length, seeing that Hank was watching his 
movements. “Stay where you are and sleep 
it out. The fire will be all right till I come 
back. ’ ’ 

He drove the sled with the collecting-cask off 
through the woods toward the river, following 
the familiar route. Perhaps an hour had 
elapsed when the straining horse drew up the 
heavily weighted sled again beside the sap 
reservoir of the camp. Hank was working at 
the woodpile. 

“Feeling better?” called John, cheerfully. 

Hank nodded, and with axe in hand watched 
his young employer enter the sugar-house. 
Suddenly there arose within a yell, the sound 
of furious scuffling, a babel of tfaths. A man 
in sailor’s garb came sprawling backward 
through the doorway as if he had met an un¬ 
expected blow. Then a measure of quiet pre¬ 
vailed again. 

Hank dropped his axe and crept round to the 
rear of the building where there was a crevice 
big enough to peep through. He was badly 
frightened. The gold pieces in his pocket were 
indeed the price of betrayal, but Hank had 


290 


THE KING’S POWDER 


bargained only to let Rafer into the camp dur¬ 
ing John’s absence and to give no warning to 
the boy when he returned. Rafer had assured 
him that he intended no violence and wanted 
merely to make sure that the young man would 
answer questions. How far Hank trusted this 
promise it would have been difficult for even 
Hank himself to say. He knew, or ought to 
have known, if he had been willing to look the 
facts in the face, that Rafer was not handing 
out gold as a friendly gift. But slack-willed, 
drunken lie’er-d'o-well that he was, if he could 
have anticipated the scene that met his eyes as 
he peered through the chink into the sugar- 
house, no bribe that Rafer could bestow would 
have tempted him. The boy lay on the ground, 
breathing fast and hard, his eyes closed, 
his face streaming blood, his hands fettered. 
Rafer stood over him in an attitude of gloating 
satisfaction. A sailor was shouting curses and 
threats, while he mopped the blood from his 
nose. Two others were rummaging the pro¬ 
vision-basket. 

“This time we’ve got you, my lad, and 
there’ll be no girl to let you loose,” said Rafer, 
after the wounded sailor, on the order to stow 


THE KING’S POWDER 


291 


his slobbering, had moderated his roars to a 
mumble. “We’ll take time for a bite of your 
grub, and then weigh anchor for the homeward 
voyage. There’s a boat waitin’ for you be¬ 
low.” 

The captive opened his eyes. “What do you 
want of me!” 

“They’ll tell you that fast enough when they 
have you aboard ship. My business is to bring 
you there. It will be easy enough from now 
on.” 

The unconcern with which the man spoke of 
his criminal act, as if it were merely a matter 
of pulling in a fish or catching a horse in the 
pasture, exasperated the boy beyond control. 
“Pirates!” he cried, flinging himself over on 
his stomach and drawing his knees under him 
in an effort to rise. “You’ll swing for this!” 

Rafer laughed scornfully and pushed him 
roughly back. “Lay there till we want you!” 

“What have I ever done to you!” 

“Nothin’,” returned Rafer. “You’re just a 
varmint I’ve been trappin’.” 

“But yuv done suthin’ to me,” bellowed the 
sailor with the injured nose. “Yuv bloodied 
me muzzle, that’s wot ye ’ave. If I ’ad ye alone, 


292 


THE KING’S POWDER 


I’d slit yer guzzard, ye warf rat! ’ ’ He ampli¬ 
fied the epithet with an outburst of profanity 
that seemed to have the effect of irritating him 
still more, for he ended his objurgation by giv¬ 
ing the prostrate lad a kick in the thigh so pain¬ 
ful that for a moment John thought he was 
about to faint. That brutal kick, the sight of 
closed eyelids, the pallor of the face, white 
against the smears of blood, the indifference of 
Rafer who made no effort to prevent the as¬ 
sault, inspired in Hank’s mean little soul an 
emotion of remorse and horror such as he had 
never experienced before. Trembling in every 
limb, stunned with terror, he turned and fled 
up the road from the camp. He ran in a panic, 
without even a vague intention of seeking help, 
animated by an overmastering frenzy to get 
away, far away, before he too should be 
knocked down and kicked. 

But his flight was short. Beyond the first 
bend in the wood road he came suddenly upon 
the big solid figure of a man swinging along 
the track in long strides. 

‘ ‘Hello, Hank! ’’ called Zeb, gayly. ‘ 4 What’s 
up! You look as scared as a bunny chasing 


THE KING’S POWDER 


293 


for his hole with the dogs after him. Have 
you seen a ghost ?" 

Hank stopped short and for a moment strug¬ 
gled with a strong temptation to plunge into 
the woods and thus escape the necessity of 
describing the scene from which he was fleeing. 
He conquered the impulse, however, and draw¬ 
ing nearer, clutched Zeb's arm and glared with 
wild eyes into his face. 

‘‘ They 've got him, '' he stammered, ‘ ‘ they ’re 
kickin' him; they're goin' to take him away 
in a boat!" 

Zeb looked down in amazement upon the 
distorted features of one seemingly mad. 
“They're what?” he asked,' slowly, and then, 
“who's ‘they'?" 

Hank cast a frightened glance over his 
shoulder. “Come away from the road and I’ll 
tell you," he whispered, and gripping a brawny 
arm with both his hands, he tugged Zeb into 
the woods. There behind a big pine-tree he 
babbled forth his story. It took the young 
blacksmith some time to disentangle the twisted 
threads of the tale, but at last he got a clear 
notion of the essential facts. 


294 


THE KING’S POWDER 


“Four men!” he mused. “Too many for 
us, Hank.” 

“Yes, yes, too many!” 

“Are they armed? Did they bring muskets 
or pistols?” 

Hank struggled with his elusive wits. “No 
muskets,” he said, suddenly looking up, “only 
knives. Every man has a knife in a sheath 
on his belt. ’’ 

“And they were going to eat before they 
started back. Now where do you suppose they 
left their boat?” 

Hank waved his hand in the general direction 
of the river. “Down there.” 

“Yes, I know, tied up somewhere. Try to 
think now. Which side did they come from 
when they turned up in camp this morning?” 

“This side,” said Hank, now definitely point¬ 
ing. 

“All right. Hank, will you go with me and 
try to save John Spencer or shall I go alone? 
You’ve done him harm enough, and I’d like to 
give you a chance to undo some of it, if it is 
possible, but you’ve got to do what I tell you, 
just as I tell you, and stand by to the end, what¬ 
ever happens. What do you say, will you come 



THE KING’S POWDER 


295 


with me, or run along home with your tail 
between your legs?” 

‘‘I’ll come,” decided Hank, fascinated by 
Zeb’s bigness, his air of calmness and assur¬ 
ance. “I ain’t good for much in a tight; I 
ain’t strong enough, but I’ll do what you tell 
me to, and I’ll stick.” 

“Come on then!” commanded Zeb, and 
plunged into the woods at a pace so rapid that 
Hank found his attention entirely absorbed in 
the effort to keep up with him. 


CHAPTER XI 


When John recovered from the attack of 
faintness caused by the sailor’s kick, he also 
recovered his self-control and his common 
sense. The men had him in their power; they 
were brutal and without conscience. By anger¬ 
ing them lie had gained nothing but an injury 
that might render him incapable of escaping if 
chance offered. It was an act of folly that he 
would not repeat. 

The pain in his thigh slackened. He lay mo¬ 
tionless, quietly watching the four sailors 
as they greedily plundered the provision bas¬ 
ket. The good food from the Spencer kitchen, 
though generous in quantity for the proper 
occupants of the camp, by no means sufficed 
for the appetites of the kidnappers, to whom, 
after the diet of weevily biscuit and hard salt- 
horse provided for His Majesty’s seamen, the 
Indian bread and baked beans and pie seemed 
absolutely delicious. There was much snatch¬ 
ing and cursing before the last morsels of the 

296 


THE KING’S POWDER 


297 


feast were gathered up. Rafer produced a fat, 
round flask that went from lip to lip, each 
swallow watched narrowly by those whose turn 
was to come. Rafer rescued the bottle before 
it was wholly empty, and fastened it to his belt, 
saying, “ we ’ll save a mouthful for Jack.” 

“How’re we goin’ back to the boat?” asked 
one. 

“Follow our trail up. It’s slower but 
surer. ’ ’ 

“Do we bum the place?” demanded the man 
with the stained nose, called by his companions 
Rudd. “Nothin’ here’s wuth carryin’ off.” 

“No!” returned Rafer shortly. “We didn’t 
come here to destroy property.” 

“What about the grub? That’s destroyed, 
ain’t it?” 

Rafer did not join in the guffaws that greeted 
this sally. “Go out and fetch in that fellow 
at the woodpile!” he ordered. “We’ll take 
him along, too, as far as the boat, to keep him 
out of mischief. The tide must have turned by 
now.” 

Rudd went forth to seek Hank. Rafer swung 
round to face his captive, and eyed him for a 
moment with a sneer of contempt. “That kick 


298 


THE KING’S POWDER 


knocked the fight out of our little cockerel, 
didn’t it! W T ell, keep your jaw shut and do 
as you’re bid and it’ll be better for ye. The 
same is true for all these backwoods patriots, 
drillin’ and oratin’ and tellin’ what they will 
do and what they won’t do. A good kick from 
the King’s regulars, and they’ll be more reason¬ 
able. Get up! Let’s see how well ye can 
walk. ’ ’ 

John got slowly to his feet and limped across 
the camp. The leg hurt him, but he could use 
it. He knew by experience that a severe bruise 
like this would be the worse next day for the 
strain put upon it now, but what mattered the 
next day! 

Rudd returned, reviling. “I can’t find the 
bloke nowhere.” 

A look of apprehension flashed over Rafer’s 
face. “Then we’d better be off,” he said, 
“he’s fool enough to set the farmers on us. 
You, Rudd, come ahead with me, then the boy, 
and after him Pete and Cooney!” 

John could have laughed aloud in his misery 
at the fear put into the heart of the bold kid¬ 
napper by the mere suggestion that Hank 
might rouse the country side, Hank, who was 


THE KING’S POWDER 


299 


probably running away to hide as fast as his 
legs could carry him! Having learned his 
lesson, he restrained himself, and fell in as 
directed. A line was looped about the cords 
that bound his hands together behind him and 
passed back to Pete. Then, in single file, led 
by Rafer and ending in Cooney, the procession 
started back along the irregular track made 
on the upward journey. 

Under exercise the muscles of his leg became 
less painful, and John was able to stumble 
along at a rate sufficiently satisfactory to his 
captors to ward off anything worse than curses. 
The sailors themselves were not greatly expert 
in swift movement in the woods. On the way 
John had full opportunity to consider his sit¬ 
uation. If Priscilla proved as correct in her 
guesses as to the course of events after he had 
been delivered on board the Canceau as she had 
been in foreseeing what had actually happened, 
there was small chance that he would ever see 
home again. Captain Mo watt was not likely 
to show mercy to a defiant youth who had once 
flouted him before the Sparhawk family. 

The company was just crossing the brook at 
the bottom of a ravine—the captive’s feet had 



300 


THE KING’S POWDER 


taken a sudden slide on the way down that had 
jerked the lariat out of Pete’s hand—when a 
sound ahead and off at one side caused John 
to stop so abruptly that Pete ran into him. 

“ What ’re ye luffin’ fur?” demanded the 
sailor, switching his prisoner with the end of 
the rope. “Ye're foulin’ me. Did ye never 
’ear a rook before?” 

A rook! W r hat John had heard was a series 
of staccato caws, natural enough to the un¬ 
trained ear, but in a certain jerky time that 
identified the sounds as issuing not from any 
crow’s throat, but from that of a certain young 
man who had once been in school with him in 
Exeter. Intent he listened for the second call 
—they had always used it twice. Again it 
came, after an interval, clear and certain, this 
time from farther ahead in the neighborhood 
of the river. It was Zeb, beyond all question! 

Had he met Hank? "Was he making for the 
boat? The boat was the weak spot in the ma¬ 
rauders’ plans, but was Zeb keen enough to 
perceive this? Good old Zeb, always loyal, 
slow to wrath but like a lion when aroused, yet 
never quick! In the woods, though, he had 
sense, horse sense, a certain practical wisdom 


THE KING’S POWDER 


301 


that often gave him the advantage over nimbler 
wits. John fell to wondering what Zeb would 
do if he came to the boat. Take the guard by 
the neck and throw him into the river? Tie 
him up and paddle out with him in the boat? 
Or would the honest fellow be taken in by some 
cunning trick on the part of the waiting sailor 
and get a knife-thrust in the ribs? 

Anxious as he was both on Zeb’s account and 
on his own, he could not anticipate with any 
confidence what method Zeb would use. He 
could not assure himself that he should find at 
the water’s edge a rescuer and not another 
victim. Hoping and yet fearful, he could do 
nothing to help his cause but delay the progress 
of the party by frequent falls and much pre¬ 
tense at difficulty in walking. In point of fact, 
since his ears had caught that first significant 
caw, the pain had passed from his leg as if 
exorcised by magic. Roughly jerked to and 
fro, sworn at for his clumsiness, threatened 
with various forms of quick or slow death, wet 
and slippery with much rolling and sliding in 
snow and ooze, he yet felt that he was again 
playing an active part in the game. His cour¬ 
age rose and his wits brightened. 


302 


THE KING’S POWDER 


It was after the last of these muddy slides, 
when Pete had given a particularly vicious 
yank at the rope, and Rudd had threatened to 
“cut his heart out” if he fell again, that he 
perceived, to his astonishment, that under the 
combined influence of wetting and tugging his 
bonds had stretched. The turn about one wrist 
was noticeably looser. His attention was now 
concentrated entirely on this slackened wristlet. 
Cautiously working his hands so as not to 
attract the attention of his guard, he strove to 
w 7 iden the loop. It was impossible to discover 
how far he had succeeded, but he began to hope 
that if he could get the chance to turn his face to 
his captors, he might squeeze one hand through. 

The opportunity came when the party halted 
at the river hank, perceived that their boat was 
gone, and hurst into imprecations. Then for a 
few precious minutes the prisoner was left to 
himself. The men crowded to the edge of the 
water and beheld their boat in midstream above 
them, held against the current by the easy 
paddling of two men. 

4 4 Ahoy there, Jack! ’ ’ called one. ‘ ‘ Bring ’er 
in, ye fool, or ye’ll get sixty at the fo’mast.” 


THE KING’S POWDER 


303 


“Tain’t Jack!” exclaimed Pete. “There’s 
Jack on the far side.” 

His words drew all eyes to the opposite bank, 
where a man in sailor’s garb was vainly halloo¬ 
ing and pointing up stream. 

“They’ve marooned the lad, the sculpins!” 
growled Rafer. Satisfied that the helpless 
figure opposite was indeed Jack, he turned his 
malignant gaze toward the boat. 

i ‘It’s that swab, Hank! I might have knowed 
he’d jockey me. If I get my hands on him 
again—” 

Rafer did not announce what he would do 
to Hank in such a case, but the expression of 
his face did not indicate a forgiving spirit. 

“We ’adn’t ought to left those muskets in 
the yawl,” remarked Rudd. “W T e could wing 
’em dead easy from ’ere.” 

At this Cooney, who had hitherto played a 
silent part in the proceedings, burst into a 
guffaw. “They’ve put us on the rocks, all 
right. Pretty poor navigators, we be!” 

Rafer, furious at the sneer, the more so as 
he recognized its justice, sprang forward and 
aimed a blow at the rash critic of his leadership. 



304 


THE KING’S POWDER 


Cooney dodged the blow and stepping back, 
unsheathed his knife. ‘ 4 None o’ that!” he 
hissed. “This ain’t the fo’castle ’ead, and 
you ain’t no ossifer. I don’t like this crimp 
game none too well. Put a finger to me and I’ll 
slit you like an alewife!” 

Rafer, glaring with rage, snatched out his 
own knife and began to circle for an opening. 
Rudd and Pete, as of one mind, rushed in be¬ 
tween the foes. 4 ‘ Avast there! ’ ’ shouted Rudd, 
with much miscellaneous profanity. “Would 
ye knife each other when we’re cast away and 
’elpless? Stow yer cutlery, Cooney, do ye ’ear 
me? And you, too, Rafer. Fight it out some 
other time.” 

Cooney fell back and made as if to sheathe 
his knife, but Rafer, possessed by a veritable 
demon of fury, would not yield. “Let me get 
at him!” he panted, as he struggled with the 
sailors, “let me get at him! I’ll show him 
who’s master here. Let me get at him!” 

Then his eye caught a glimpse of something 
moving at the edge of the clearing, and his 
struggles suddenly ceased. “The boy!” he 
gasped, pointing to the place where John had 
stood. “He’s got loose. After him! Don’t 


THE KING’S POWDER 305 

let him get away or we’re done for! After 
him, all hands ! 9 ’ 

The leading rope lay on the ground where 
Pete had dropped his end when he hurried to 
part the combatants. How the boy had cast 
off the other end, which was fastened about the 
cord that tied his hands, they could not under¬ 
stand. They did not try to. Instead, at 
Rafer’s orders, they rushed into the woods 
at the point where John had last been seen, and 
having marked the direction of a footprint in 
a patch of snow, spread out in hasty pursuit, 
each man following a line radiating from the 
footprint. They pushed briskly into the belt 
of pines and hemlocks that skirted the river to 
some depth, emerging after a time into the 
more open region of the hardwood trees. At 
the start each searcher expected to discover 
the lurking figure and shout for assistance; 
each moment of silent advance but added to 
a growing conviction of failure. It seemed 
incredible that the youngster, in his weakened 
condition, could have been so fleet upon his 
feet, so cautious of his step, as not to give a 
glimpse of his escaping figure or leave a trail 
in the damp and snowy ground. After ten 


306 


THE KING’S POWDER 


minutes of vain search the beaters straggled 
back to the riverside, each hoping that some 
one else had been more fortunate than himself. 
Rafer was the last in. 

It was a less violent, but no less bitter Rafer 
that gathered his subordinates together on the 
point where the boat had been left when the 
expedition landed. Spencer had disappeared, 
but his friends evidently knew no more of his 
whereabouts than the sailors, for they were still 
paddling in the stream as if expectant. There 
was a chance, it seemed to Rafer, of at least 
recovering the yawl, and perhaps, after wiling 
in the two men, of making a more extended 
search that might bring his escaped captive into 
his hands once more. He hallooed to the boat x 
which was allowed to drift slowly with the tide. 
Zeb stood in the stern, a musket in his hand. 
Hank kept the boat in position with the oars. 

44 Give us our boat,’’ called Rafer. 44 We let 
Spencer go. We were just havin’ a little sport 
with him.” 

44 Don’t believe him!” pleaded Hank in a 
frightened voice. 44 I saw what they done to 
him in the camp. They’ve got him tied up in 
the woods somewhere.” 


THE KING’S POWDER 


307 


“Where is he?” demanded Zeb. 

“Back to the camp by this time. We let him 
go a long time ago.” 

“Why didn’t he come to ns then?” 

“He didn’t know you was there.” 

“He’s lyin’,’’ urged Hank. 4 ‘I saw John and 
I know he saw us. They’re tryin’ to decoy us 
in.” 

“We ’ll treat you fair, ’ ’ went on Raf er. “ I ’ll 
give ye a guinea for the boat, and you can 
leave it anywhere along the bank you say. You 
might as well, for the boy has gone home. If 
you’re proposin’ to wait for him here, you’ll 
have to stay all night.” 

“How are we going to get the guinea?” 
asked Zeb, with no intention of seeking it, but 
vaguely making conversation in the hope that 
in some way the right course might become 
clear to him. 

“Come up nearer and I’ll toss it to you.” 

“Don’t, for Heaven’s sake, don’t!” pleaded 
Hank. “He’ll kill us!” 

“Well, I’ve given you your chance, anyway, 
and I’ll give you a warning,” went on Rafer. 
“If you don’t accept my offer and accept it 
pretty lively, we ’ll go back to the camp, get the 


308 


THE KING’S POWDER 


boy, burn the shanty and make off overland. I 
kin get another boat. I’m warning ye.” 

Poor Zeb was sorely puzzled. If the sailors 
left him, he wouldn’t know whether they had 
gone to the camp or not. If they did go, they 
would destroy the camp and perhaps capture 
John again, while he and Hank were paddling 
up and down the river. If he left the boat to 
follow them, they might get in behind him by 
a flank movement, seize the boat again, bring 
their captive out of the woods and make off. 
Not knowing how to find a way out of the di¬ 
lemma, he stood and gaped in silence. 

“Come, be sensible,” said Rafer smoothly, 
now sure that he had to do with a simpleton. 
“You’ve beat us. All we’re after is the yawl. 
It’s no good to you if we leave the river. We’ll 
agree to let you go up to that point and land, 
and we’ll stay right here in sight while you 
do it. That ’ud give you a good start if we 
wanted to catch you, which we don’t. You’ll 
save the camp and the boy, for if you keep the 
yawl, we’ll surely take the boy.” 

“Don’t!” besought Hank, who felt that Zeb 
was wavering. ‘ 4 Don’t harken to ’em! They ’ll 


i 


THE KING’S POWDER 


309 


get us somehow. Let’s land on t’other side 
and wait.” 

‘ 4 What good will that do?” 

“We could keep the sailor over there as a— 
as a hostage.” 

Zeb shook his head. “I wouldn’t know what 
to do with him. I wish John was here. He’d 
know all right.” 

“My Lord, how you talk!” groaned Hank, 
despairing. “You must be plumb crazy! If 
he was here, we wouldn’t be huntin’ for him, 
would we? We’d just take the musket's and 
go.” 

The muskets! The suggestion offered a 
focussing point for Zeb’s bewildered thoughts. 
He looked dubiously at the musket which he 
still held in his hands. Rafer and his mates 
watched him from the shore. 


CHAPTER XII 












Whether Zeb could have extricated himself 
from his dilemma, even with the aid of muskets, 
must be left to conjecture. A plan of action had 
momentarily appealed to him, a wild impulse 
to rush the men on shore and subdue them by 
force, but he did not cherish it long. He rec¬ 
ognized that he was so fearful of blundering 
that he was sure to blunder. Apparently the 
only decision that he could safely make was to 
make no decision, to wait for developments. 
He was just drawing breath to shout to Rafer 
that he guessed he would wait a while, when 
from the high trees beyond the river bank 
came a sound that, like the sight of a familiar 
blaze on a tree to the traveler who has 
wandered from the trail, dispelled in a flash all 
doubt and uncertainty. It was only the sharp, 
quick caw of a crow. No one noticed it but Zeb, 
who was an expert in the cawing of crows. Too 
stolid to show suspense, he waited for the re¬ 
peat; then silencing the protesting Hank with 

310 


/ 


THE KING’S POWDER 311 

a gesture, he called boldly to Rafer, “We’ll 
land at that point up-stream, hut you’ve got to 
wait where you be and keep out on the bank 
where we can see you.” 

“All right,” the sailor shouted back. “And 
you’ll leave the boat?” 

“I’ll see when I get there. I’ll either leave 
the boat there or bring it back. Stay in sight 
or it’s all oft.—And you, Hank,” he ordered 
his companion, “hold your tongue and do what 
I tell you. I know what I’m about.” 

He let Hank pull him a short distance up¬ 
stream, then, vexed at the slowness of their pro¬ 
gress, himself took an oar. The men kept in 
sight on the shore, but after a time began to 
move about, so that it was difficult to make-an 
accurate count. Meantime the crow call was 
heard again, now localized in a clump of big 
hemlocks well in from the shore. Coming op¬ 
posite the hemlocks, Zeb uttered the call him¬ 
self, and to his delight got an answer. Run¬ 
ning the bow of the yawl ashore, he jumped out 
and kicked the boat into the stream. Then bid¬ 
ding Hank keep a sharp lookout and shout the 
minute they moved, he plunged into the woods. 

John, satisfied that Zeb was near in the boat, 


312 


THE KING’S POWDER 


liad already ventured forth from his safe re¬ 
treat in the thick hemlock tops into which he 
had climbed. Slowly, so as to make no false 
steps, carefully, to avoid brittle stubs of dead 
branches, he worked his way to the ground. 
For all he knew, the sailors might be scattered 
through the forest ready to pounce upon him, 
as a wild beast leaps upon its prey. It was 
like a game of hide-and-seek in the woods, with 
this distinction—that the reward of victory for 
the hunted was not the pleasure of winning, but 
escape from captivity and peril of death. The 
fiction of peril lends exhilaration to sport; ac¬ 
tual peril banishes every element of joy and 
makes every decision an agony. 

Standing at the base of the clump of hem¬ 
locks, John heard the oaw close in by the shore, 
and felt an immense wave of relief sweep over 
him as he realized that Zeb was at hand. With¬ 
out thought that caution might still be neces¬ 
sary, he promptly echoed the call. The sound 
had hardly died upon his lips when he heard 
a movement near him, and instantly turning, 
found himself looking into Rudd’s venomous 
eyes. Before he could turn to run, Rudd, with 
fists doubled up, leaped toward him. 


THE KING’S POWDER 


313 


After all he had undergone on this day of 
cruel happenings, some excuse might have been 
found for the boy if he had given way to the 
panic that assailed him. Habit rather than 
fortitude saved him.’ Understanding in a flash 
the uselessness of an attempt to dodge, with 
the instinct of a wrestler and having in mind 
the sweep of those hard fists, he stooped low and 
dove forward to meet the charge. As a result 
the force of the sailor’s rush carried him prone 
over the boy’s shoulders and back. At the 
moment Rudd was thus outstretched, tTohn 
strove to lift him from the ground, but the 
burden was too great for his strength. The 
sailor straightened up, as he felt the tug, and 
fell to belaboring the boy’s sides with his hard 
fists. 

Realizing that he could not endure this 
punishment long, John unclasped one arm and 
with all the strength he could muster drove his 
fist into the assailant’s stomach. Rudd emitted 
a grunt, and for the briefest interval relaxed 
his grip. The interval was sufficient. Releas¬ 
ing both hands, John drove with one once more 
against the sailor’s groin, while with the other 
he snatched the knife from the sheath which he 


314 


THE KING’S POWDER 


felt pressed against his cheek. Then, threaten¬ 
ing with the naked knife, he broke away. 

They stood thus face to face, John panting 
hard, Rudd cursing with a suppressed but tierce 
intensity that boded ill for the object of his 
animosity. Not for an instant did the boy im¬ 
agine that he could hold his own against the 
man, even with the aid of the knife, for he 
neither knew how to use it nor wished to. He 
thought only to gain time to get his breath 
before taking to his heels, and to keep the knife 
from the other’s deadly hand. Rudd advanced, 
still muttering frightful things, but cautious, 
with his gaze fixed on the weapon. John fell 
back, watching Rudd’s eyes for the signal of 
the rush. The half-closed eyelids suddenly 
opened wide, the sailor leaped, and John as he 
tried to dodge, caught his heel in a root and 
went down. He had just time to cast the knife 
from him when Rudd, with a yell of triumph, 
was upon him. 

Instinctively the prostrate lad squirmed over 
to save his face from the storm of blows that 
he knew was coming, at the same time striving 
to draw up his knees for a fresh start, as any 
wrestler would. He was aware that his last 


THE KING'S POWDER 


315 


chance was gone, that further resistance meant 
merely a longer beating, yet something within 
him forced him to fight on as long as he had any 
power to fight. It was unthinkable that he 
should lie prone upon the ground and take a 
whipping from any man without some effort at 
resistance. So he struggled hopelessly, fool- 
ishly, if you will, hardening his muscles against 
the expected blow. 

But the blow did not fall. Instead, he felt 
suddenly the weight lifted from him, and crawl¬ 
ing forward in amazement, got his trembling 
legs under him once more. He turned then, 
and saw, with a rush of delight that made him 
dizzy, the solution of the mystery. Zeb had ar¬ 
rived on the scene. He had taken the sailor 
from behind, and with his great hands clasped 
about the man’s neck was shaking him as a 
terrier shakes a rat. 

“You’ll strangle him, Zeb!” gasped John. 

For answer Zeb gave his arms a sweep that 
laid the man flat on the ground, where he lay 
choking and coughing. As the two looked down 
upon him writhing and struggling for breath, 
a feeling of pity crept into the minds of both. 

‘ ‘ He’d have killed you , 7 7 said Zeb, as if in self- 


316 


THE KING’S POWDER 


defense. ‘ 1 He ’d have knifed yon, and thought 
nothing of it.” 

i 4 Thanks to you—he didn ’t,’ ’ John answered, 
working in the statement in parts between 
rapid breaths. ‘‘What now?” 

“I dunno. This game is too mixed up for 
me. The rest of the crew is waiting for the 
boat down where you left ’em. This fellow 
sneaked off contrary to what they promised. I 
dunno what to do. You take charge.” 

John considered a bit. 44 We don’t, want to 
leave him here, anyway. Let’s put him fior the 
present where you put the other man. That 
will give us one less to deal with. He deserves 
hanging.” Drawing Zeb out of earshot, he 
added: “I don’t see how we can help letting 
them go. If we arrested them, Captain Mowatt 
would take it out of the people of Portsmouth. 
He has the town under his guns.” 

Zeb accepted the reasoning with reluctance. 
i ‘ I suppose you know best, ’ ’ he said with a sigh, 
“but it don’t seem right. They’re kidnappers, 
all of ’em, and this fellow came pretty close to 
bein’ a murderer. When I think what he was 
goin’ to do to you, my blood fairly boils.” 

“Well, it’s over now, anyway,” returned 


THE KING’S POWDER 


317 


John quickly. “We mustn’t do anything that 
would bring trouble to Portsmouth. Mowatt 
would claim that we assaulted his men while 
they were on an innocent fishing trip up the 
river, and nothing that we could say would 
count with Gage or Admiral Graves. Frighten 
him as much as you want to, but that is all we 
can safely do.” 

They returned to their captive. Zeb touched 
the shrinking Rudd lightly with the toe of his 
boot. (1 Get up, salt-horse! ” he said contempt¬ 
uously. “You’re able to travel now. And 
don’t try any tricks, or we’ll dig a hole and 
leave you in it.” 

The man rose unsteadily. Taking from his 
pocket the cord with which his own hands had 
been tied, John secured Rudd’s hands behind 
him. Then, seizing each an arm, they led and 
pushed him to the bank of the river. 

“That’s the man!” exclaimed Hank, as he 
caught sight of the sullen, but thoroughly cowed 
captive. “He’s the one what kicked the boy 
when he was lyin’ tied up in the camp.” 

“He did!” cried Zeb, now fiercely angry. 
“Why didn’t you tell me that, John, you rascal? 
I’d have kicked him all the way here. Let’s 


318 


THE KING’S POWDER 


drownd him. Let’s chuck him in and see if he 
can swim without hands, like we used to do!” 

‘ 1 Remember what I told you, Zeb, ’’ said John, 
in a warning whisper. 

Rudd heard nothing but Zeb’s threat, saw 
nothing but the look of wrath that blazed in 
the big fellow’s eyes. The sailor’s face went 
white. “I—I can’t swim,” he whined. 

“Then it’ll be over the sooner,” retorted Zeb, 
roughly, but he took a few hasty strides along 
the bank, and when he returned, John saw that 
he was again in a reasonable mood. 

“We won’t throw him over till we get him 
down near the point,” said Spencer. “That’ll 
give his friends a chance to see the show. Or 
we may decide to take him up to the village 
and have him indicted for kidnapping and at¬ 
tempted murder. We have all the witnesses 
we need.” 

“Why, John,” began Zeb, seriously, “you 
said back there in the woods—” 

“Never mind about that now,” interrupted 
his friend. “We’ll settle that question later. 

r 

Let’s get off now.” 

The boat ran swiftly down the stream, helped 






■ 

























- 
















. 






THE KING’S POWDER 


319 


along by the tide. As they approached the 
bank where Rafer and his two comrades were 
still waiting, they passed a flat rock on the edge 
of the channel, just emerging from the water. 

“Hold!” called John. “That’s the very 
place.” He whispered eagerly to Zeb who 
nodded, and turned the yawl about. "When 
close to the rock, he cut Rudd’s thongs, and 
ordered him out. “In about four hours,” Zeb 
explained, “you can wade across to the other 
side through the mud. I don’t quite like the 
idea of drowndin’ you, and it’s too much trouble 
to take you ’way up to Exeter to jail. But 
don’t you come round here again, for there’ll 
be a sight of people on the lookout for you, who 
wouldn’t mind drowndin’ you at all.” 

So they left the tar on his diminutive and un¬ 
comfortable islet, and paddled in toward the 
point. “It’s too much for me,” Zeb decided, 
after a few words had passed between them as 
to the best course to pursue. “You do what 
you think is right, and I’ll back you up.” 

The sailor men were waiting, having watched 
with tense interest the transfer of their mate 
to the rock. The yawl was brought in close to 


320 


THE KING’S POWDER 


the shore and held there against the tide. John 
rose in the stern, holding one of the muskets 
ready for use. 

‘ ‘ Stay where you are !’ ’ he commanded. 1 i I 
give you warning that I’ll break the legs of 
the first man who tries to get away. We’ll 
parley. Step out here, Rafer, and speak up! 
Who sent you here to capture me?” 

“ Captain Mowatt,” growled Rafer. 

“And he was backing the secretary when he 
tried to kidnap me at Sparhawk House, wasn’t 
he?” 

“Ay.” 

“Now listen to me. We have you fellows at 
the end of your own muskets, where you can’t 
get away. Even if you should give us the slip, 
we’d simply get word across-lots to Farmer 
Burkett’s house, and within an hour there’d be 
fifty men out watching the roads and scouring 
the woods for you. Now that’s something I 
don’t want to do. In the first place, I’m tired 
and sore and wet, and stiff with the cold, and I 
want to go home. In the second place, if we 
took you prisoners, you’d be roughly handled, 
some of you killed, and your rascally captain 
would make it an excuse to bombard Ports- 


THE KING’S POWDER 


321 


month or some innocent settlement in revenge. 
You see I’m frank with you. We’ll give you 
your boat and let you go back to your ship, but 
only on condition that you tell us what it’s all 
about, and never show your face here again. ’ ’ 

“I’ll promise that,” said Rafer quickly, a 
gleam of hope breaking through the expression 
of ugly sullenness in which his face was set, 
“but I don’t know what it’s all about.” 

“Guess!” 

“I can’t guess.” 

“Then you’re common pirates and deserve 
no mercy. Stand aside there, Pete and Cooney! 
I’m going to shoot his legs from under him, 
and at this distance, let me tell you, I’m a good 
shot.—Zeb, take another musket and stand by 
—you’ll speak, or take the consequences. Now 
I’ll count ten, and at the end of the count, or 
sooner, if you try to run, I’ll fire. One, two, 
three, four,— ” 

“Stop!” yelled Rafer, frantically waving his 
arms. “I’ll tell ye, I’ll tell ye everything I 
know.” 

“Do you know, or are you just pretending?” 

“I know. I heard ’em laying their plans.” 

“Speak up, then!” 



32,2 


THE KING’S POWDER 


“It’s about the powder from the fort. They 
think you know where it is and if they can get 
hold of you, they can squeeze what they want 
to know out of you.” 

John lowered his musket. “That’s more like 
it. Tell Captain Mowatt, with my compliments, 
that he won’t get me, but if he did, he wouldn’t 
get the powder. It just can’t be got. Now for 
our part of the bargain. We’ll hand over the 
boat, but in our own way. First we ’ll take you 
and Pete, one at a time, and put you on the 
rock where Rudd is amusing himself. Then 
we’ll give Cooney the boat, and he can pick you 
up or le’ave you, just as he pleases. We aren’t 
taking any chances.—Stand farther away, you 
two others!—Now, Rafer, come aboard,—just 
a minute, though; I’ll take that knife. Now sit 
right down in the bottom in front of me. Wet? 
of course it’s wet, but nothing to what I had to 
take when you were dragging me down through 
the mud and snow.” 

“We ought to loop a line round him and tow 
him,” growled Zeb.' “You’re lettin’ him off 
too easy. Say the word and I’ll chuck him over 
the side.” 


THE KING’S POWDER 


323 


“Maybe he can swim. I don’t believe he’s 
a real Britisher. He speaks with a Yankee 
tongue.” 

“Renegade!” snapped Zeb. 

“Probably. A renegade is worse than a 
Turk, according to the saying,” went on John, 
who was enjoying the situation greatly. “That 
means that a Colonial turncoat is worse than 
a Britisher. Very likely he had to join the ship 
to keep out of jail.” 

Rafer started and turned threateningly, as 
if to attack the speaker, but immediately 
crouched down again, swearing vehemently. 

Zeb stopped rowing. “Shall I biff him one 
on the mouth?” he demanded. “Just a little 
one to keep him quiet ? ’ ’ 

“You couldn’t give him a little one if you 
tried,” said John, with a laugh. “Let him 
alone. He’ll receive his full reward when he 
gets back to the ship, or Captain Mowatt is a 
different man from what I take him to be. 
He’ll have my ring and chain in the brig, and 
some one else will get his allowance of rum. 
—Did he tell you how much he was to get for 
handing me over, Hank?” 


324 


THE KING’S POWDER 


“Not a word !’ 9 protested Hank. “You don’t 
think I’d ’a’ let him do what he done if I’d 
ha’ knowed, do you?” 

“My money’s in his pocket now,” sneered 
Rafer. “He wa’n’t paid for doing nothing.” 

Zeb stopped rowing and looked round. “You 
sold him, did you,” he burst out, “like his 
brothers sold Joseph into bondage!” He 
swung round again, and gave several tremen¬ 
dous tugs with his oar that drove the bow of the 
yawl many points into the tide before John 
could check the direction with the rudder. 
“You can have him,” he continued, addressing 
Rafer. “Take him along with you, him and 
his money, and make a noble British sailor of 
him. We don’t want any traitors in our 
camp. ’ 9 

“No, no!” cried Hank, wildly. “You 
wouldn’t do that, John! I ain’t a traitor. I’ll 
give him back his money. I’ll—” 

Hank did not reveal what other amends he 
intended to offer, for just then the handle of 
his oar caught him in the stomach and knocked 
him over backwards. 

“Shut up and mind your rowing!” com¬ 
manded John. “And Zeb, you ought to re- 


THE KING’S POWDER 


325 


member that Joseph came out pretty well in 
the end, just as I’m doing, thanks to you. 
Hank has tried to make up for his mistake. 
We don’t want to hand him over to Rafer’s 
vengeance.” 

‘‘ Mistake!” snorted Rafer. “Was it a mis¬ 
take when he took my money? If he ain’t done 
ns he agreed, he ought to pay it back.” 

“He’ll keep it for the present,” said John. 
“There’s your island, Rafer. You’ll have to 
jump it. Stand ready when I swing the stern 
in!— Biff him, Zeb, if he hesitates— Now!” 

Rafer leaped into the waiting arms of Rudd, 
and the yawl fell off. “A pleasant homeward 
voyage! ’ ’ called John. ‘ 4 Don’t forget my mes¬ 
sage to the captain.” 

Rafer made no retort, but Rudd yelled back 
a malediction which his commanding officer cut 
short by a rough slap on the lips. 

“The pirate chief is going to be good till he 
gets the boat,” remarked Zeb, as he observed 
this courteous method of repression. “But 
what’ll he do then?” 

“Go back to the sloop,” answered John. 
“What else could he do? We’ve got the 


arms. 


326 


THE KING’S POWDER 


“So we have. I know a lot of men in my 
town that are drillin’ with guns not half so 
good. I want one myself. These two jacks 
ashore will be easy to handle. We don’t need 
to ferry ’em over one at a time. They’ll mind 
when they’re spoken to.” 

So it proved. Pete and Cooney retreated 
promptly when ordered to retire from the 
shore. The muskets were unloaded and taken 
in charge by Spencer, while Zeb held the painter 
for the embarkation. The two worthies 
stepped meekly into the yawl, and Zeb pushed 
them off as if they were friends departing for 
a pleasure trip. But his parting words were 
not cordial. “Don’t come back!” he warned 
them, and drew the edge of his hand signifi¬ 
cantly across his throat. 


CHAPTER XIII 


The trio watched in silence from the shore 
as the brace of birds on the rock tumbled on 
board, the lone sailor was rescued from the far¬ 
ther side, and the yawl, with four men at the 
oars, passed rapidly down stream. 

‘‘How did you get the fellow on guard at the 
boat?” asked John. “Did he fight?” 

“He tried to,” Zeb answered casually, “but 
it didn’t amount to anything. I took him by 
the shoulders and shook him till the knife flew 
out of his hands. He and Hank rowed me 
across.” 

“You came in the nick of time,” said John 
soberly. “It was my last chance.” A fit of 
shivering shook him. “I feel as if I had been 
frozen solid and only half thawed out. I’m 
stiff and sore all over. In another hour I don’t 
believe I could move.” 

“Then let’s strike for the camp. Supposin’ 
I carry you. I wouldn’t mind it a little bit. I 

can get there faster than you can walk.” 

327 


328 


THE KING’S POWDER 


John smiled wanly. “I don’t doubt it, but it 
will be better for me to use my muscles as long 
as I can. It was really a nasty kick that ruffian 
gave me. I’d forgotten all about it during the 
last half hour, but now it simply won’t be for¬ 
gotten any longer. I’ll let you two carry the 
muskets.” 

‘ 1 Very kind of you!’’ grunted Zeb. “I’d like 
to see you try to stop me. ’ 7 

They made slow progress on the way up the 
hill, so slow, indeed, that Zeb finally rebelled, 
and hoisting his friend, despite protests and 
struggles, on his back, went on with long strides 
that left Hank and the muskets trailing far 
behind. They found old Dobbin exactly as he 
had been left, standing stolidly beside the sap 
reservoir. 

Zeb greeted the sight with a loud chuckle of 
amusement. “Look at the old fellow! He 
hasn’t moved an inch. He knew it would come 
out all right and didn’t worry a minute. ’ ’ 

Once inside, they speedily rebuilt the fire and 
made themselves a hot drink from materials 
which John produced from a nook overlooked 
by the sailors. Not a crumb was left in the 
lunch-basket. John’s proposal that they make 


THE KING’S POWDER 329 

a short day of it and go where food was to be 
had met no adverse argument. 

As they drove homeward, somewhat crowded 
with Zeb on the seat, John suddenly recalled 
Rafer’s last speech. 4 ‘Hank,” he said gravely, 
“I want that money.” 

“What money 1 ’’ 

“The money Rafer gave you.” 

Now Hank, as he sat in the boat, cowering 
before the formidable Rafer, fearful every in¬ 
stant that Zeb, in his indignation, might fling 
back an arm and knock him overboard, had been 
quite willing to abandon possession of the 
money to anybody who asked for it. At the 
present moment, however, circumstances had 
greatly altered. He had been received again 
into favor; he even felt himself entitled to 
credit for the part he had played in the rescue, 
a part which he had already magnified in his 
imagination into a feat of arms that he could 
boast about in days to come, when neither of the 
young men was present to check up his tale. 
The two gold pieces that rested heavy in his 
pocket now seemed to him only a legitimate re¬ 
ward for his brave deeds. 

“It ain’t your money,” he answered sullenly. 


330 


THE KING’S POWDER 


“I paid for it, anyway, but I don’t want it 
for myself. I have a use for it.” 

“So have I,” retorted Hank. “Yon hain’t 
got no right to rob me of it.” 

“Well, Hank, do you want me to tell in the 
village exactly how yon came to receive that 
money?” 

“Yon wouldn’t do that!” protested Hank, 
“after all I done to save you. I didn’t know 
what they wanted you for.” 

‘‘ Shucks! ’ ’ broke in Zeb. ‘ ‘ Why waste good 
words on the critter? He’s so mean he can’t 
even feel ashamed. Whoa, there, Dobbin!” 

He got deliberately down from his seat in 
the wagon, and reaching up, took Hank under 
the armpits and swung him to the ground. 
“Shell out, now, and be quick about it!” he 
commanded. “It’s blood money and will 
poison the drink you spend it for. John will 
know what to do with it.” 

Hank looked up fearfully into the stem face. 
He hesitated, but only for an instant, for greed 
and a sense of outraged right promptly over¬ 
mastered him. “Robber!” he yelled, struck 
wildly, and tried to wrench himself loose. Zeb 
transferred one hand from coat collar to the 


THE KING’S POWDER 


331 


back of the man’s neck, and pressed. Hank 
yelled again, this time with pain. 

“Will yon be good?” asked Zeb, calmly. 

“Yeah,” gasped Hank, and Zeb released his 
grip. Fumbling in his pocket Hank produced, 
with a shaking hand, the two gold coins. 

“Now that’s over,” said Zeb. “Get in!” 

The rest of the drive was passed in silence. 
On the street before the dilapidated shanty that 
Plank called home John reined in old Dobbin to 
let the unprofitable servant out. 

“Come up to-morrow morning and see if I 
am able to go , 9 ’ he said pleasantly. 

“I ain’t goin’ to work for you no more.” 

“Very well. Come up and I’ll pay you. 
Now send your wife out. I want to speak 
with her.” 

“You ain’t goin’ to tell her about—what hap¬ 
pened up there?” 

John laughed. “Not unless you start the 
story first.” 

Hank disappeared round the comer of the 
house. Presently a bent, thin-faced woman in 
worn moccasins and shabby patched gown, with 
an old shawl over her head, emerged from the 
house and came hastily up the path. 


332 


THE KING’S POWDER 


“You want to see me!” she called anxiously, 
as she drew near the wagon. “Has he done 
something bad again!” 

“It’s not about Hank,” returned John, re¬ 
assuringly. “Come up closer. I’ve two Eng¬ 
lish guineas here that have come into my hands 
that I want to give you. ’ ’ 

“Two guineas!” echoed the woman, in 
amazement. “Two guineas! Why, I ain’t 
seen so much money since I was married! Is it 
all right for me to take ’em! What’ll Squire 
Spencer say to it!” 

“Yes, it’s all right, and my father has noth¬ 
ing to say about it. You can take them with a 
good conscience. But you mustn’t let Hank 
know that you have them. When he’s off 
somewhere, go over to Bunker’s store and get 
him to give you credit for them. I’ll speak to 
Bunker and he’ll keep quiet about it. He’s 
that kind, you know. You can use the credit 
gradually for what you need without Hank’s 
suspecting anything. But you won’t tell him, 
will you!” 

“Not a word!” said the woman, solemnly. 

“Say that I told you to come over to the 
house for a basket of things. That’ll be true, 


THE KING’S POWDER 


333 


for I’ll ask Mother to have it ready for you.” 

He nodded good-by, and started Dobbin on¬ 
ward. 

“She must have a pretty hard time of it with 
that skunk,’’ commented Zeb. “Do you think 
he’ll turn up again in the morning?” 

“Of course. Who else would have him?” 

At the parsonage John drew rein again. 
“I’m going to stop and have a word with Pris¬ 
cilla. You remember her, don’t you? The 
minister’s daughter. She’ll be interested to 
hear about our adventure.” 

He limped up the gravel walk and lifted the 
big brass knocker. Priscilla herself opened the 
door, neatly dressed as always, keen of eye, 
fresh of face. She took in his bedraggled con¬ 
dition at a glance, leaped at once to a correct 
conclusion as to the main facts, and spoke be¬ 
fore he could open his mouth. “They tried 
again and didn’t succeed! Are you hurt?” 

“No, they didn’t succeed, and I’m not much 
hurt,” answered the young man, surprised to 
find so much of his message anticipated, “but I 
should have been if Zeb hadn’t turned up just 
in the nick of time. I’ll come over soon and 
tell you all about it, but some way, I don’t feel 



334 


THE KING’S POWDER 


like talking about it now. I thought I’d stop in 
and confess that you were right and that I 
wasn’t so wise as I pretended to be. It is 
easier for me to say it now than it will be some 
other time, when I’m feeling more perky.” 

“Is that Zeb out there?” asked Priscilla 
quickly. “If it is, I’m going out to speak with 
him. ’ ’ 

They went slowly down the crocus-edged 
walk to the gate, Zeb in the meantime eying the 
approaching girl with apprehension. 

“How do you do, Zeb?” said Priscilla, 
bravely yielding her frail hand to the bashful 
clutch of the big fist. “I may call you ‘Zeb,’ 
I suppose.” 

“Why not?” returned Zeb. “It’s what 
everybody calls me.” 

“You see, Zeb,” John explained, “it was 
Priscilla who suggested my sending word to 
you last week to come up and spend a few days 
with me. She scented danger and I did not.” 

“It was very fortunate you happened to 

come,” added Priscilla. “Some dav I’m 

' «/ 

going to hear all about the wonderful things 
you have done.” 

Zeb stared at her with big eyes. ‘ ‘ Happened 


THE KING’S POWDER 


335 


to come!” lie repeated. “Why, you writ me 
yourself to come. I’ve got the letter in my 
pocket. John’s letter didn’t amount to shucks. 
He didn’t say aught about trouble or the 
Canceau people or anything of any account. 
I didn’t mean to come over till next week, but 
your letter give me a real scare. I got it last 
night, and was up and off before daylight.” 

“What’s this!” demanded John. “Did you 
write him, too, Priscilla!” 

“Yes, I did,” confessed Priscilla, showing a 
little confusion. “What you told me about the 
strange man visiting Hank at night worried 
me. I didn’t believe any man would come to 
that place and bring Hank rum just for love of 
him, and knowing what happened at Sparhawk 
House, I was afraid something of the sort would 
be tried again. As I heard no word of Zeb’s 
coming, I thought I had better hurry him.” 

“You hurried me, all right,” remarked Zeb. 
“I didn’t stop for any breakfast, except a mug 
of milk and a snatch of bread I et on the way. 
I’m feelin’ the lack of that breakfast right 
now.” 

“Then I won’t detain you,” said Priscilla, 
quickly, with a flash of amusement in her eyes. 


336 


THE KING’S POWDER 


“ Thank you for answering my letter so 
promptly. ’ ’ 

She turned quickly, and was half way up the 
walk before Zeb could get out a word. “I 
didn’t mean it that way,” he confided with 
his slow speech to his friend. “I didn’t mean 
I was too hungry to talk with her. She thinks 
I did. Hadn’t I better go in and explain?” 

“No, it isn’t needful,” replied John. “She 
understands. ’ ’ 

“How can she know what I meant if I don’t 
tell her?” 

John signaled to Dobbin with tightened rein 
that it was time to move on. “That’s her 
specialty, Zeb,” he said wearily, “knowing 
what other folks mean without their telling 
her. ’ ’ 

Zeb pondered this statement for some time in 
silence. They were close to the Spencer gate 
when he announced his conclusion: ‘ 4 She must 

be a mighty smart gal. I don’t believe in gals 
bein ’ so smart. It makes ’em hard to manage. ’ ’ 

John burst into a laugh, a weak laugh of 
jaded nerves and exhausted body, a laugh 
prompted quite as much by relief at the sight of 
the familiar yard and the knowledge that the 


THE KING’S POWDER 


337 


end of the day had come, as by Zeb’s seriously 
considered opinion. “She doesn’t need to be 
managed, Zeb,” he said. “She does the man¬ 
aging herself. She has more brains than both 
of us together .’ 9 

“That’s not sayin’ much,” replied Zeb.— 
“No,” he corrected himself, as a faint smile 
appeared on John’s face, “I don’t mean that 
at all. Your brains are all right. It’s mine 
I was thinkin’ of.” 

“You can’t say that after to-day, Zeb. I let 
myself fall into a trap, and you got me out of 
it, and you alone. When you sneaked down 
ahead and stole the boat, you won the battle. 
The rest was nothing.” 













PART III 


HOW IT WAS USED 



; 




/ 


I 


CHAPTER I 

Winter gave way to spring, and still through¬ 
out the province of New Hampshire the spirit 
of resistance grew, augmented by reports of 
the sufferings of the inhabitants of Boston, by 
interference with trade, and by encounters 
about Portsmouth harbor between companies of 
patriots and English crews sent ashore to seek 
provisions. Governor Wentworth retired to 
makeshift quarters at Port William and Mary 
where he could be sure of receiving protection 
from the British ships. -Committees of Safety 
took over control of several towns. Save by the 
faithful few, who hid their convictions under 
discreet silence, the authority of the King was 
no longer recognized. 

Towards night on the nineteenth of April 
vague reports sped across the Merrimac that 
Gage had sent troops to seize the arsenal at 
Concord, and that blood had been shed on the 
way. In the morning post-riders brought news 
of the fierce fight along the line of retreat. 

341 


342 


THE KING’S POWDER 


Harrowing inventions of the wanton burning 
of houses, of the murder of noncombatants, 
women and children, flew from lip to lip. With¬ 
out waiting to be called, men of New Hampshire 
seized their muskets and marched south. They 
came from farm and water front, hamlet and 
town, volunteers who asked only to be led to 
the defense of their countrymen. John Stark, 
impetuous and uncontrollable as a mountain 
torrent in flood, put himself at the head of this 
motley regiment, and taking all who would join 
his colors rushed to the front. 

From Durham village at the first alarm went 
forth a dozen men, among them John Spencer. 
His father offered no protest against his going. 
Reserved as ever, without hint of reproach or 
approval, he pressed his son’s hand at parting, 
bade him take no unnecessary risks, and be¬ 
stowed upon him, in lieu of curse or blessing, 
a well-filled purse. Thanks to this purse, John 
could rest comfortably at the inn at Andover 
after his first long march. At noon of the next 
day he joined Stark’s force at Chelsea. 

In the New Hampshire camp all was con¬ 
fusion. Bewildered officers, zealous, but ignor¬ 
ant of their duties, labored to organize the 


THE KING’S POWDER 


343 


nondescript squads which kept pouring in. 
Provisions abounded, but everything else was 
lacking, military supplies, uniforms, camp out¬ 
fit—and above all, order and subordination. 
Every man regarded himself as the equal of 
every other. It was not a regiment, but a mot¬ 
ley band of patriotic free lances. 

Wandering perplexed through the camp, 
John came upon Zeb polishing his musket be¬ 
fore a tent. 

‘ ‘ You here! ’ ’ cried Zeb. 11 What company ? ’ ’ 

“No company,” answered John in discour¬ 
aged tones. “We haven’t been assigned yet. 
We have no tents and half of us not even blan¬ 
kets. They’ll probably put us on garrison duty 
at some place away from the fighting where we 
can be quartered in houses.” 

“Join our company and tent with me,” said 
Zeb promptly. “Come, we’ll hunt up the cap¬ 
tain and you can sign on. If there’s fighting, 
Stark will have his share if he has to defy 
General Ward to do it.” 

Half an hour later John was registered in 
Captain Dearborn’s company and assigned to 
Zeb’s tent. Zeb being a sergeant, and a mus¬ 
cular one at that, his comrades made way, 


344 


THE KING’S POWDER 


grumbling, for his friend. At the end of four 
days when the whole force moved to Medford, 
one of the Exeter men went home on sick leave, 
and thereafter there was room for all. 

At Medford while the regiment drilled and 
stood guard, and Stark strove with the New 
Hampshire Congress for an independent com¬ 
mand, others beside the boys grew restive under 
inaction. The atmosphere of the camp was 
full of impatience for battle. Many of the men 
were backwoodsmen, hardened by the ceaseless 
struggle for existence with forest and rocky 
hillside. To them a gun was as familiar a com¬ 
panion *as a cane to an English dandy. Trained 
by hunting and frequent matches, they could 
both shoot straight and pick the favorable in¬ 
stant for their shots. Such men took it hard 
that they must be kept to endless drilling five 
miles from a chance to use their skill. 

Presently came news of skirmishes with 
British troops on the islands in the harbor. 
The report of a successful encounter on Nod¬ 
dle’s Island on the twenty-fifth of May stirred 
the envy of the bolder spirits in Stark’s camp. 
On the twenty-ninth, to their great delight, Cap¬ 
tain Dearborn’s men were sent to Chelsea to 


THE KING’S POWDER 


345 


take part in a raid on the island. Strict orders 
were issued to use ammunition sparingly. 

Our two friends were satisfied with their 
part in the raid. There was some fighting, and 
Zeb ’s detachment was in the thick of it. When 
he reported to Captain.Dearborn after the en¬ 
gagement, rather expecting to be complimented 
on the performance of his men, he was met 
with a direct question roughly put: “How 
much ammunition have you left?” 

“None, sir, we had to use it all.” 

The captain scowled. “Used it all on a 
cattle-raiding expedition! Do you think pow¬ 
der grows on trees?” 

“I know it don’t,” Zeb answered, simply, 
“but you can’t fight without powder, and we 
just had to fight to save our skins. Can’t we 
get more?” 

“I’d like to know where!” declared the cap¬ 
tain, angrily. “We’ve tried and tried, ever 
since we reached Medford, and all we get is 
excuses and half promises. We’re no nearer 
a decent supply than we were a month ago. 
After this ill-considered raid we’ll be worse off 
than before. And when a real battle comes 
on—” 


346 


THE KING’S POWDER 


Captain Dearborn broke off to give a com¬ 
mand to an officer who appeared just then for 
instructions. He did not continue his confi¬ 
dences after the officer had gone. Instead he 
looked gravely into the young subaltern’s eyes, 
and said, “I’ve talked too much and too openly. 
I shall trust you to remain silent about what 
you have heard, though the truth must soon be 
known to the men and to the enemy as well. 
This continued failure to give us ammunition 
is driving me frantic.” 

Zeb was silent, that is, to every one except 
John who was to him as another self. They 
talked of the supply of powder which they had 
helped retrieve from the fort, the barrels from 
the Exeter portion uselessly scattered over the 
countryside, reserved for defense against at¬ 
tacks that would never be made. And when 
Zeb wondered what had become of the store 
which he had helped deposit under the pulpit 
in the Durham meeting-house, John declared 
that much of it was still there, but there was 
no reason to hope that any of it could be ex¬ 
tracted from its resting-place without long and 
troublesome negotiations. Yet he thought of 
that idle reserve far oftener than Zeb, who 


THE KING’S POWDER 347 

accepted life as it unrolled before him, and com¬ 
plained of nothing except inaction. 

The days of June drew on, and though each 
day brought a fresh crop of rumors of great 
events to be, none witnessed the arrival of 
powder. The time was spent in drilling—and 
talking. John had written to Parson Adams 
about the powder at Durham. Not until the 
tenth did he receive an answer: the minister 
would lay the matter before Major Sullivan on 
the latter’s return from Philadelphia. He was 
not sure about the wisdom of sacrificing in the 
siege of Boston the scanty stock of ammunition 
reserved for the defence of the colony. He was 
confident that the committee of safety would 
see that the army was supplied. 

John tore the letter to fragments and cast 
them angrily on the ground. ‘ ‘ And what about 
sacrificing the colony’s men?” he cried hotly, 
as if he had the cautious minister in bodily 
presence before him. “Do we count for 
naught? Are we sent here merely to be tar¬ 
gets for British muskets?” 

All that day and the days that immediately 
followed he thought powder, nothing but pow¬ 
der. He scanned the supply carts that rolled 




348 


THE KING’S POWDER 


into camp, hoping that one at least might 
be freighted with something beside food and 
clothing; he pumped the guards of the useless 
ammunition wagons. He could not discover 
that the regimental store had been increased 
by a single barrel of powder. 

4 ‘It’s none of my business,’’ he kept assur¬ 
ing himself. ‘ 4 The officers and committees will 
surely arrange it in some way. I am not at 
all responsible, a private and a boy! What 
would Colonel Stark say to me if I should pre¬ 
sume to offer suggestions! It’s preposterous 
to think of it!” So he argued down his doubts, 
only to find them rising again as obstinate as 
ever. 

On the fifteenth a rumor ran through the 
camp that the British had decided to fortify 
Bunker Hill or Dorchester Heights or both. 
Such a move, every one agreed, must be either 
anticipated or prevented. All opined that the 
long-awaited clash of arms was near. John 
turned in at night feverish with suspense, 
and flopped in his blanket a restless hour be¬ 
fore his anxieties ceased to torment him. They 
came again with the reveille at daybreak. 

“What ails you?” demanded Zeb, as John 


THE KING’S POWDER 


349 


sat silent over his morning rations. “You 
haven’t been yourself the last three days. 
Sick!” 

John shook his head. 

“It can’t be you’re frightened about the bat¬ 
tle ! ’ ’ Zeb continued, watching his companion 
closely. 

“No, not exactly,” John answered, and con¬ 
demned himself forthwith as a liar. It was 
precisely about the battle that he was fearful, 
though not as Zeb meant it. 

“It’s best not to think about it at all,” Zeb 
remarked. “I don’t believe it does any good 
to imagine all sorts of things that may happen. 
We’ll do our part all right when the time 
comes. ’ 9 

Stark had charge of the drill that morning, 
grim and exacting. John Spencer showed him¬ 
self surprisingly absent-minded; his lieutenant 
reproved him twice for inattention, and at the 
end of the exercise sent him to Captain Dear¬ 
born for official reprimand. The boy’s eyes 
shifted restlessly as he stood before the officer, 
apparently listening to the formal censure. 
In fact his brain received not a word of it. 

“Captain Dearborn!” he burst out, 'as the 



350 


THE KING’S POWDER 


officer turned away. “Won’t you take me to 
the Colonel? I must speak with him. It is 
very important, sir, and I don’t know how to 
get at him. ’ y 

The captain eyed him severely. “Certainly 
not. Colonel Stark leaves immediately for 
Cambridge to meet General Ward. He is not 
in a mood to be held up by a private unless the 
business is of the utmost importance .’’ 

“It is of the utmost importance,” John cried. 
“Pray take me to him. I must speak to him 
now—before he gets away.” 

“And what is this important business?” 

“It’s about the powder. I think I can get 
some.” 

The captain started, and a flash of joy lighted 
up his face. “Powder!” he cried, seizing the 
boy by the shoulder, “and we stand here chat¬ 
tering. Come!” 

They left the pasture where the tents were 
pitched, and walked rapidly up the street to 
the square unpainted schoolhouse used by 
Colonel Stark as headquarters. The guard at 
the door, a formality on which commanding 
officers insisted greatly during the early stages 
of the war, saluted Captain Dearborn and stood 


THE KING’S POWDER 


351 


aside. In the room into which John followed 
his sponsor were three persons. John Stark 
sat at the schoolmaster’s desk on the platform, 
bending over his notes. His adjutant stood at 
one of the tall pine desks of the scholars before 
a scattering of papers. In the window lounged 
Major McClary, the trumpet-voiced idol of the 
little army, a giant in strength, of dauntless 
courage, handsome above the lot of ordinary 
men. Fate had but thirty-six hours of life in 
store for Andrew McClary; yet she did not be¬ 
grudge him the full term of his one great battle, 
nor deprive his men, while the struggle lasted, 
of the mighty inspiration of his leadership. 

Colonel Stark looked up with an expression 
of impatience as the captain and his companion 
entered. 

“This is a private of my company, Colonel, 
John Spencer of Durham,” Captain Dearborn 
announced. “He has a communication of im¬ 
portance to make to you.” 

Stark threw a challenging look at the tense 
face of the boy. “Well, John Spencer of Dur¬ 
ham, speak up!” he ordered with a sharp voice. 
“We have no time to waste. What is the com¬ 
munication ? ’ * 



352 


THE KING’S POWDER 


“It's about powder, sir,” said John. “I 
know where there is some. ’ ’ 

Stark sprang from his chair, and leaning 
over the desk glared down into the young man’s 
face. “Powder, did you say?” he bellowed. 
“Powder! Where is it? How can we get it? 
How much is there?” 

“In Durham. Twenty barrels.” 

“They told me that had been given out.” 

“Not all of it, sir. Some is left under the 
pulpit in the meeting-house. They’re keeping 
it to use in case of emergency to defend the 
colony. ’ ’ 

“Defend the colony!” repeated Stark, bit¬ 
terly. “Don’t they know that the place to de¬ 
fend the colony is right here?” 

“Who is ‘they’?” asked McClary. “Who 
knows about this store?” 

“Three beside myself. Major Sullivan is in 
Philadelphia, Alexander Scammell away rais¬ 
ing troops. Parson Adams hesitates about 
sending it down. I think I can get it if I go 
after it.” 

The officers exchanged looks in which John 
read question and doubt. Stark settled back 


THE KING’S POWDER 353 

into his chair, rested his head on his hand and 
made lines on the papers before him. 

“It’s too late,” said the adjutant. “They 
fortify to-morrow.” 

‘ ‘ Perhaps not, ’ ’ observed McClary. ‘ ‘ These 
Britishers are slow. They’ve been waiting for 
weeks; they may wait a little longer. Let’s 
take the chance.” 

“Sixty miles to Durham,” murmured the 
adjutant. 

“Listen, boy!” said Stark. “It is prac¬ 
tically decided that a force shall be sent to-night 
to seize and fortify Bunker’s Hill in Charles¬ 
town. When the enemy see our works they’ll 
try to drive us out. Twenty-four hours from 
now, unless Providence puts a drag at their 
heels, there’ll be a fight for that hill. We’ll 
be in it somewhere. We haven’t powder for 
six cartridges per man. Can you get us pow¬ 
der from Durham in twenty-four hours?” 

“No, sir,” answered John, “but I can do it 
as quick as any one can. If you will give me 
Zeb Giddinge and horses, I’ll try.” 

“Who is Zeb Giddinge?” 

“A sergeant in my company, sir,” said Cap- 



354 


THE KING'S POWDER 


tain Dearborn. 44 I can vouch for him. He 
fought well at Noddle’s Island.” 

Stark scowled but made no comment. 

“I know Zeb,” put in Major McClarv. 
“He’s a stout fellow with spirit. I’d trust 
him.” 

4 4 You must have horses, ’ ’ said Stark. 4 4 Take 
mine, he’s at the door. He’s the best I’ve got 
but I’d give my whole farm this minute for a 
dozen barrels of powder in hand!” 

44 Zeb is pretty big,” suggested John, dif¬ 
fidently. 4 4 He’ll require a solid sort of ani¬ 
mal.” 

44 Is he bigger than I am!” demanded 
McClarv, with a smile. 44 Mv horse is at his 
service.” 

44 Ten minutes then and we’re off!” cried 
John, eagerly. 4 4 Just an order from you, sir, 
to show for authority. I’ll find a wagon in 
Durham.” 

4 4 Hold on,” put in the adjutant. 4 4 You’ll 
ruin those horses if you push them for sixty 
miles. I know a man in Haverhill who’ll fur¬ 
nish you fresh mounts. I’ll give you a letter 
to him.” 



THE KING’S POWDER 


355 


“Good!” said Stark. “Write your letter 
while I prepare my order. Major McClary, 
you will want time to get that roan of yours 
ready for a hard day’s work. It never pays to 
hurry too soon. And you, young man, find this 
Zeb Giddinge, get a square meal and report 
here for instructions. If you do what you 
promise, you have a stern piece of work cut 
out for you.” 

Half an hour later the boys stood before 
Stark’s headquarters ready to mount. John, 
with the Colonel’s order in his pocket, quiver¬ 
ing with eagerness to be on his way, constrained 
his impatience to listen dutifully to the last di¬ 
rections. Zeb’s countenance showed no trace of 
emotion. 

“It seems like pursuing a forlorn hope, hut 
I have confidence in you, ’ ’ said Stark, shrewdly 
studying the two faces that were turned toward 
him. “Be careful, save your horses, take no 
one into your confidence by the way unless ab¬ 
solutely needful to the success of your mis¬ 
sion. If you secure the powder, use your best 
endeavors to deliver it promptly into my hands, 
wherever I am—to me, you understand, or to 



356 


THE KING’S POWDER 


my regiment, or Colonel Reed’s, and nowhere 
else. I will send a detachment to meet yon on 
your way back.” 

He hesitated an instant and a gleam of re¬ 
sentment flashed from his keen eyes. He could 
not forgive the New Hampshire Congress for 
appointing a brigadier over his head. “Gen¬ 
eral Folsom has been put above me, but no 
stay-at-home soldier shall interfere in this . 1 
My men shall not be compelled to fight with 
clubbed muskets if I can prevent it. Be off 
now and God help you.” 

i This contemptuous reference to General Folsom as a “stay- 
at-home soldier,” though natural enough to one of Stark’s im¬ 
patient temperament and independent spirit, gives a wrong 
impression of the facts. General Folsom had distinguished 
himself in former wars, and was highly esteemed. An elderly 
man at the time of the Revolution, he was very active and 
efficient in the necessary work of raising troops and providing 
for their support. The colonial leaders had doubtless good 
reasons for choosing him to head their militia rather than 
the impetuous and wilful Stark. 


/ 


CHAPTER II 

For twenty miles the boys rode forward with¬ 
out adventure, breathing their horses from time 
to time and picking their ground carefully. 
John was jubilantly sanguine; he vowed that 
he didn’t feel the slightest touch of fatigue, 
and waxed indignant with Zeb for making such 
slow haste. 

“We’ll never get there if you dismount at 
all the hills,” he expostulated. “There’ll be 
fresh horses at Plaverhill.” 

“I hope so,” said Zeb, “but I’m not taking 
risks. Steady and safe is the best for a long 
pull. We’ll get there.” 

Mentally berating his companion as a beefy 
sluggard who couldn’t ride, John pushed his 
horse ahead along a downward slope. The 
mare’s forefoot landed on a rolling stone; she 
lurched, caught herself and went on with a 
heavy limp. John swung himself down and 

lifting up the foot found a pebble wedged 

357 



358 


THE KING’S POWDER 


against the frog. He was clumsily trying to 
pry it out with his fingers when Zeb came along¬ 
side. 

“Stone?” said Zeb. “That’s always liable 
to happen. Let the blacksmith have a try at 
it!” From his pocket he drew forth a huge 
horn-handled knife of many blades and tools. 

‘ ‘ I can do anything with it except drive nails, ’’ 
he added, as he opened out a hook-like blade. 
“Give me the hoof.” 

With a dexterous twist Zeb sent the pebble 
flying. “There!” he said, grinning. “You 
can’t laugh at my penknife any more.” 

“Laugh at it!” cried John. “I’ll love it 
hereafter as an Indian loves his tomahawk. 
If only she don’t go lame!” 

“If she does, we’ll have to swap with some 
one,” said Zeb, good-naturedly. “I guess 
she’s good for some miles yet.” 

Despite his assurance Zeb watched the mare 
closely as John mounted and started forward. 
At first her shoulders gave a little, as the 
weight fell upon the bruised foot, but presently 
the sensitiveness seemed to wear away until 
the blacksmith’s practised eye could hardly 
detect an uneasiness in the animal’s gait. The 


THE KING’S POWDER 359 

relief which he felt did not show itself on Zeb’s 
stolid face. 

4 ‘You’ll have to favor her a little, M he said, 
simply. “Better take the pace of a poor horse¬ 
man like me.” And John, understanding the 
fault which Zeb was too generous to rebuke, 
controlled his impatience and rode cautiously. 

Two miles south of Bradford on the Merri- 
mac the lameness came on again. They made 
slow progress to the ferry landing; they waited 
long for the boat which was tied up on the Hav¬ 
erhill side. Two o’clock found them across, but 
Henry Allen in whom they trusted for relays 
did not turn up at his stable till three. When 
he did appear he displayed a cordiality that 
seemed most promising and a deliberateness 
that belied the promise. He read several times 
the letter which John put into his hand, asked 
more questions than the boys could answer if 
they would, expressed at length his own patri¬ 
otic sentiments and his personal views on the 
great questions at issue, brought out horse after 
horse only to condemn each in turn and return 
it to the stalls, until the couriers driven des¬ 
perate by hope deferred began to doubt whether 
he meant to give them any help at all. And 



360 


THE KING’S POWDER 


when the mounts were finally selected, by a slow 
process of exclusion, they had to endure in 
patience a long harangue while the horses were 
being fed. 

They got off at last in the neighborhood 
of four o’clock, greatly vexed at the delay. 
“We’ll take it out of the horses,” said Spencer 
spitefully, as they slowed down at the first hill. 
“He had no business to keep us so long.” 

“He wasn’t under any obligation to give us 
the horses at all,” Zeb returned. “It’s un¬ 
grateful to look a gift horse in the mouth, 
especially when the horse is as good as this 
one of mine.” 

“He’s giving to the cause not to us, to help us 
win a battle,” retorted John. “If he can save 
the lives of the men who are fighting, he ought 
to give and give quick.” 

“If—,” answered Zeb, and stopped. 

“Do you mean we sha’n’t accomplish any¬ 
thing?” demanded John, anxiously. “I’m be¬ 
ginning to feel discouraged myself. It’s going 
to be harder to put this thing through than I 
thought. If we’re blocked at every turn it’ll 
take us three days to haul the powder down to 


THE KING’S POWDER 


361 


the troops; there may he no troops to bring it 
to by that time.” 

“There yon go fretting again!” said Zeb 
who had taken to his feet. “You’re always 
fussing about how things are goin’ to turn out. 
Because you find it harder than you expected 
you want to throw up the job.” 

“I don’t,” John returned, indignant. 

“Then don’t think of anything but the next 
step ahead. We’ll have all sorts of trouble, of 
course, but if we lose heart every time any¬ 
body gets in our way, we’re pretty poor 
sticks. And you want to remember that the 
Britishers ain’t over fast. It’s nigh on two 
months since they stirred, and they’re just as 
liable to be delayed as we are. We’re out to 
get that powder and deliver it to Stark in the 
shortest possible time. Bo you mean to stick 
to the job or flinch?” 

“Of course I mean to stick to the job,” John 
retorted hotly. “Don’t you know me any 
better than that ? ’ ’ 

“I know you’re up and down too much,” was 
Zeb’s quiet rejoinder. “This ain’t the kind of 
job to be up and down on.” 


362 


THE KING’S POWDER 


Zeb's blunt criticism kept John's mind busy 
for many miles. Being naturally candid, he 
recognized it as partially justified, and possess¬ 
ing an excusable pride he vowed that on this 
expedition at least he would prove he was not 
one to turn back after putting his hand to the 
plow. The “next step" was the powder and 
the means of conveying it to the army. If 
Parson Adams would give up the powder he 
would probably provide horses and a wagon. 
If he refused,—well, then there must be another 
step,—a step which the boys could not take 
unless the occasion arose, but there would be 
no flinching. 

It was nearlv seven when the travelers, lame 
and hungry, rode across Durham Bridge. The 
parsonage door stood open; Priscilla was busy 
with the rosebushes in the front yard. John 
pulled up at the gate and leaving his horse in 
Zeb's care went up the box-lined walk. 

“How do you do?" Priscilla called to him 
with her gay smile. “Have you deserted?" 

“No," answered John, who felt too conscious 
of his responsibility if not too weary, to indulge 
in aimless pleasantry. “We've ridden from 




THE KING’S POWDER 


363 


Medford since morning on urgent business.” 

4 4 Oh, indeed! ’ ’ spoke Priscilla, with a mock¬ 
ing twinkle in her eye. 

“May I speak with your father?” 

The color that rose in Priscilla’s cheeks was 
due to the recollection of a similar request made 
months before and of the pertness of her reply, 
but John evidently had other things on his 
mind, for the look that met hers was tense and 
eager, and his voice sounded anxious. 

“He is away,” she said, watching him nar¬ 
rowly. ‘ ‘ They called him right after supper to 
see old Miss Stebbins, over Newmarket way, 
who is very low. He won’t be back for two 
hours at least.” 

The young man’s countenance fell. He 
turned half about and glanced as if for counsel 
to Zeb, who stood outside the gate, smoothing 
the drooping neck of his horse. 

Priscilla came nearer. “What is the mat¬ 
ter?” she asked appealingly. “You must tell 
me; I can be trusted, and perhaps I can help. 
What do you want of my father?” 

And John, coaxed by the girl’s earnestness 
and overlooking the fact that she was just a 






364 


THE KING’S POWDER 


girl, told briefly of the expected battle, of the 
dire alternative which the New Hampshire men 
would face who after firing their few rounds 
must flee or be bayonetted; of Stark’s hope¬ 
less search for powder and his own offer to 
bring a supply from the Durham store if he 
could gain the minister’s consent. Priscilla’s 
eyes glowed with sympathetic fervor. 

“It’s lucky that my father is away,” she 
cried. “He might object. Now you can take 
it without consulting him and be off before he 
returns. You’re not afraid to act without his 
consent?” 

“I fear naught except failure,” John cried; 
“but we can’t pack the stuff to Boston on our 
shoulders. We must have a wagon and horses. 
I was counting upon his assistance.” 

“You’ll have to find a team.” 

“Yes, I know,” John returned impatiently, 
“but where?” 

“Somewhere,” answered Priscilla shortly, 
with an impatient little toss of her chin. “I 
don’t know where, but we’ll find it. Now 
here’s what you have to do. Go home, put up 
your horses, tell your father what you have to 
do and ask his advice—” 




THE KING’S POWDER 


365 


“But you know where he stands on this ques¬ 
tion!” John broke in. 

‘ 4 Oh, yes, ’ ’ answered Priscilla promptly. ‘ ‘ I 
know what you think you know and I know 
what I feel; and what I feel about a person is 
’most always so. It won’t do any harm to con¬ 
sult him; he won’t betray you. Now hurry 
along and I’ll unlock the meeting-house so that 
Goliath of yours can come back and bring up 
the barrels before it gets dark. Meantime I’ll 
be thinking about the team.” 

While they rode on towards his father’s 
house, John retailed to Zeb the information he 
had received; and then escaping his cares by 
the path of least resistance, fell to considering 
the interview with the parson’s daughter. 
Cheering she surely was, and spirited and 
clever, and bold with the audacity of inex¬ 
perience; but her claim to know because she 
“felt,” John found amusing. Six months be¬ 
fore, when she had snubbed him for a Tory 
and afterwards eaten humble pie on finding 
herself wrong, he would have ridiculed her 
claim to know because she felt. With his mem¬ 
ory of certain happenings since that day still 
fresh, he could no longer do this. Yet here, 




366 


THE KING’S POWDER 


certainly, she must be wrong. He knew his 
father. Tory he was, by honest conviction, and 
Tory he would remain. 

As the boys entered the Spencer yard, John 
caught a glimpse of his father in the garden 
engaged in his regular after-supper exercise. 
One of the horses neighed a greeting to the big, 
hospitable barn, and Mr. Spencer, glancing up 
from his work, gave the newcomers a neutral 
nod of welcome. John turned the horses over 
to Zeb, and passing down the path between the 
blossoming rosebushes and half grown bunchy- 
topped hollyhocks, stood before his father 
among the hills of corn. 

And while Spencer Senior leaned on his hoe, 
fixing his eyes steadily on his son’s eager face, 
John told again the story of the empty powder 
horns, the threatening battle, and his own 
frantic effort to bring relief. 

“ And you can pin your hopes to an army as 
destitute as that!” asked Mr. Spencer as the 
son’s narrative lagged. 

The blood surged to the boy’s worn face. 
44 They are good men,” he declared hotly. 
“Not one among them would miss his man at 


THE KING’S POWDER 


367 


a hundred yards. All they need is ammunition, 
but without it they’ll be massacred. They’re 
too brave to run away.” 

Mr. Spencer’s eyelids drew together, and a 
shadow of emotion swept across his face. John 
wondered vaguely, as he waited for an answer, 
whether incredulity or contempt was respon¬ 
sible for the expression. His father hoed very 
carefully and in silence another hill of corn. As 
he started on a second, he asked casually: 
“And how do you propose to get the powder 
to them!” 

“We must find horses and a wagon.” 

Again Mr. Spencer broke off his work to rest 
his folded hands on the hoe-handle, this time 
looking across to his big barn. “There’s the 
new hay-wagon,” he said with calm deliberate¬ 
ness, “it’s as strong as anything you can find. 
And the grays haven’t done much to-day. 
They’ll put a good many miles behind them 
before morning. I guess you won’t come across 
anything better than you can get right here at 
home.” 

“Do you mean it, Father?” gasped John. 
“Why, I thought—” 






368 


THE KING’S POWDER 


“I know what you thought,” interrupted his 
father, “and what I thought myself until Lex¬ 
ington was fought. Since then I have seen 
things somewhat differently. I understand 
that the colonies are determined, that war is in¬ 
evitable, and that I cannot sit on the fence and 
wait. I must throw in my lot with my country¬ 
men or with their enemies; there is no middle 
ground. There are hard days coming. Men 
will die on the battlefield and in camp, and John 
Spencer may be one of them. I don’t want my 
old age made miserable by the remembrance 
that I refused help to my own son in his day of 
need.” 

He broke off here for a moment, and the 
flicker of a smile played about his lips. “The 
fact is, boy, you have forced my hand, but theo¬ 
retically I am just as much of a Tory as ever. 
Now make ready your load while I see to the 
horses. You can have your supper when you 
come back.” 

In the stable whither John hurried to notify 
Zeb he found his friend admiring the sturdy 
grays as they champed placidly away on their 
evening allowance of hay. 


THE KING’S POWDER 


369 


“There’s the critters you ought to have,” 
said Zeb without looking round. “They’d pull 
a ton twenty-five mile up hill and down, and 
never know they had a load.” 

“And they’re the critters we’re going to 
have, Zeb!” cried John, skipping across the 
floor as if his legs were not as stiff as pokers 
and his stomach the vacuum which nature 
abhors. “Come, let’s fetch out the barrels be¬ 
fore it’s dark. Mother’ll see that we have some¬ 
thing to eat.” 

Miss Priscilla came demurely down her walk 
as they passed the parsonage gate. 

‘‘ Everything is ready for you, ’ ’ she said. ‘ 4 1 
put tools and a lantern inside. You’d better 
lock yourselves in. Have you found a team?” 

“Yes, Father’s given us his grays. How did 
you know he’d do it?” 

Priscilla gave her head a toss. “Perhaps I 
have second-sight,” she answered, laughing. 
“You see, my great-grandmother—” 

“Was a witch!” interrupted John. 

“Not proven. She was tried at York, but 
Parson Moody stood her friend.” 

“Since you’re a witch—” began John. 


370 


THE KING’S POWDER 


“ I’m not a witch! ’’ 

“If yon know so much, then perhaps you can 
tell us something else.” 

“I can,” answered Priscilla readily. “I can 
tell you that Sergeant Giddinge (Zeb blushed 
to hear himself so dignified) is growing tired 
of waiting; that unless you get that powder out 
of town before nine o’clock my father will be 
back, and then no witch can help you. Don’t 
forget to give me back the key before you go 
away. ’ ’ 

As darkness fell that night, Gideon Spencer 
in his cart, partly filled with hay, pulled up be¬ 
fore the meeting-house. Zeb brought forth the 
barrels, which John arranged in a bed of hay, 
wedged tight, and covered first with blankets 
and then with a thick cushion of hay. 

‘ ‘ We Ve left enough, ’ ’ said Zeb. ‘ 4 They can’t 
say we took all they had.” 

Priscilla locked the door and took charge of 
the tools. “Good luck to you!” she cried. “I 
feel sure you’ll get there on time.” 

“Then I suppose you know it, Mistress 
Witch,” John replied with a grin. “I hope 
you do, anyway.—And now Father, goodby, 


THE KING’S POWDER 


371 


and thank yon a thousand times. Zeb and I 
will keep watch, and leave the horses in good 
quarters. ” 

“Zeb and you will lie down and go to sleep,” 
returned Mr. Spencer. “Do you think I’m go¬ 
ing to hand over my grays with a load of gun¬ 
powder to a couple of irresponsible boys? The 
teamster goes with the horses.” 

Priscilla burst into a merry laugh and 
clapped her hands softly. “Just what I was 
thinking of. Now the boys’ll get a good rest!” 

“But you’ll lose a whole night’s sleep, 
Father,” John protested. 

“Better that than lose my horses,” returned 
his father as he lifted the reins and clucked the 
signal for starting to the grays. 

John, following Zeb’s example, made himself 
a comfortable nest in the hay and closed his 
eyes. He was weary enough to sink instantly 
into sleep but the jolting of the wagon and the 
rush of happy thoughts for a time balked the 
drowsiness. Half an hour later, when a vehicle 
rattled past in the dark he was still in that am¬ 
biguous state in which dreams and conscious 
experiences are curiously blended. 



372 


THE KING’S POWDER 


‘ 1 What was that 1 ’’ he called, popping up into 
a sitting position and peering stupidly into the 
darkness. 

“Parson Adams driving home in his chaise ,’’ 
answered Mr. Spencer, with a faint chuckle. 
“He might have put a spoke in our wheel if 
he had been at home! ’ ’ 

U 0ur wheel!” repeated John softly as he 
threw himself back. “Who’d have dreamed 
that Father would ever say that!” 


CHAPTER III 


A minute later he was sound asleep. When 
he opened his eyes again, it was to find the snn 
shining into them. The grays stood drooping 
their heads over the gates of the Haverhill 
ferry landing; Mr. Spencer was bringing them 
water from a near-by well. 

“Aren’t you going to change here?” asked 
John, as his father came up. 

“They’ll go a mile or two farther. I have 
a friend beyond the hill who will help us.” 

“Let me drive, anyway,” urged John. 
“You’ve done enough.” 

But Mr. Spencer shook his head in a quiet, 
decisive way that left no room for argument. 
His face, as he held the bucket on his knee, 
stroking with his unoccupied hand the neck of 
the thirsty horse, showed plainly the effects of 
the long vigil. Just then Zeb, who had been 
pounding violently on the door of the ferry¬ 
man’s cabin, found his exertions doubly re¬ 
warded. An angry-faced woman appeared 

373 





374 


THE KING’S POWDER 


suddenly from within, demanding in a shrill 
voice why he made such a clatter at this hour 
of the morning; and from the entrance to the 
cow-shed looked out a sleepy-eyed man clad in 
smock and overalls. Beating a humble retreat 
from the house door Zeb laid hold of the 
ferryman and hurried him to the landing. The 
boys, eager to be doing something, played sub¬ 
stitute for the lawful boatman at the windlass 
and ground their precious cargo to the Brad¬ 
ford side. Once more on land, the grays strain¬ 
ing their lax muscles at their master’s word, 
struggled up the steep incline to the level of the 
high banks, and took up again their slow pro¬ 
gress. 

At a Bradford farm Mr. Spencer quickly ar¬ 
ranged for a fresh team and the boys made a 
hasty breakfast. While they waited for the 
horses Zeb greased the wheels and tightened 
the bolts. “We may have to make speed 
farther on,” he confided to John. “It won’t 
do to let things rattle loose. ’ ’ 

Mr. Spencer reached his hand to Zeb over 
the edge of the wagon. “Good-by!” he said. 
‘ ‘ I have done all I can. Your part begins now. ’ ’ 
He held his son’s hand a little longer. “I’ve 


THE KING’S POWDER 


375 


no fear for you, John, except that your zeal 
may outrun your discretion. You must keep 
him steady, Zeb!— And, boy, if you don’t 
come back to me, I shall forget everything else 
and remember only this last day when we 
worked together in the country’s cause. 
Whether the cause is right or not, God only 
knows, but we are together in it, and together 
we will stay.— Send us word as soon as you 
can. ’ ’ 

So John and Zeb and the fresh horses pushed 
on through the early hours of the placid June 
day. In the fields along the road the farmers 
were engaged in their wonted occupations. 
Scythes swished in the rank meadow grass; 
outside the doors of an endless succession of 
kitchens, well-scoured milk-pans flashed in the 
sun; from wide-open village smithies came the 
familiar ring of the anvil. It seemed as if no 
hint of war had reached the countryside. 

Towards ten o’clock a man rode by at a 
gallop shouting an indistinguishable something 
about a battle at Charlestown. Fearful that 
their mission had already failed, the boys 
forced the pace of their lagging animals. They 
gained some relief through hearing at the first 






376 


THE KING’S POWDER 


village store the postrider’s news: “The Ameri¬ 
cans have fortified Bunker’s Hill in Charles¬ 
town. The British are cannonading from fort 
and fleet; an assault is imminent.” 

“Still hope,” said John, as they drove on 
again under the high sun, “but we’ve got to 
move faster. These horses won’t last much 
longer. ’ ’ 

“Then we must find new ones,” answered 
Zeb, and forthwith appealed to the next two 
owners of stout horses whom they met, to swap 
teams. The men showed no lack of patriotic 
interest. They were willing to spend an hour 
asking questions and making suggestions, but 
their decision in the end was the same—for 
special reasons they could not spare their 
horses; a mile or two ahead lived some one who 
had an extra pair which he ought to be glad to 
use for such a good purpose. 

“There’s no good in that,” said Zeb. 
“Horses we need, and horses we will have.” 

At a barn near the roadside they came upon 
an elderly man just driving out in his hay- 
wagon. Zeb pulled up and both boys leaped to 
the ground. 

“Sir,” said Zeb, “You see that wagon? It’s 



THE KING’S POWDER 


377 


loaded with powder for the men fighting at 
Charlestown. These horses are used up; we 
want yours.” 

John thrust Stark’s letter into the man’s 
hands. He read it in silence, then walked to 
their wagon and piercing the hay with his hand 
felt of the barrels. 

“You can have ’em,” he said. “It’s a poor 
horse trade, but I’ve got a son with Prescott. 
Swap again, and tell the man you leave ’em 
with that they belong to Israel Proctor. He’ll 
know me if he lives this side of Medford.” 

On they rumbled again, forcing their new 
horses along the level, grudging the drag of 
every hill. The sun had crossed the zenith when 
stopping to water at a log trough beside the 
road they heard the irregular muffled groan of 
distant cannon-fire. 

“They’re at it already,” said Zeb. “I guess 
we’re too late. How far yet to go!” 

“Ten miles,” answered John, dolefully. 
Presently he brightened up to add, “But the 
infantry may not be in action yet. They always 
play their artillery first.” 

“All day!” asked Zeb with a smile of in¬ 
credulity. “The Britishers may be slow but 









378 


THE KING’S POWDER 


they’re not fools enough to give us all day to 
get ready for them before they attack. Well, 
let’s get on.” 

Israel Proctor’s horses no longer trotted the 
level stretches, they ran, and though they 
covered ground fast it was evident that they 
were tiring of their task. The roar of cannon 
had grown distinct. The appearance of the 
country had changed, the fields were deserted; 
people stood at their gates in tense converse; 
greedy sight-seers were already streaming 
toward the front. 

“I’ve got to make another swap pretty 
soon,” Zeb shouted in John’s ear. “Why not 
stop the first good team we see and make ’em 
change with us—” 

“And have a fight on our hands! Let’s try 
begging first.” John pointed to a barn just 
ahead, flanked by long cow-sheds. “There 
ought to be horses in that place.” 

They reined their horses into the yard where 
a young* man with pale thin face and keen 
restless eyes sat in a splint chair at the door 
of the barn. A cane lay across his knees. 

John’s voice trembled with eagerness as he 
laid bare his need. 


THE KING’S POWDER 


379 


“Horses to take powder to Charlestown!” 
cried the young man. He tried to rise but a 
grimace of pain twisted his features and he 
gave up the attempt. “Yes, sir. You can have 
them, the best span in Middlesex County! Here, 
Prince!’’ he called to a negro within, “harness 
Han and Ned and be quick about it!” He 
turned again to Spencer who took no pains to 
conceal his delight in the success of his appeal. 
4 4 But you’ve got to take me with you, right into 
the fight, you understand.” He touched his 
left thigh with the tips of his fingers. “I was 
out on the nineteenth of April and got it here. 
The wound didn’t commence to heal until a 
fortnight ago, so they made me stay at home. 
My company’s out there somewhere now. 
You’ve got to carry me where you carry the 
powder.” 

44 We will,” John answered, promptly. 

4 4 Just reach ’round the corner behind that 
bar’l and you’ll find my musket and things. I 
can shoot all right sittin’, if I can get a rest 
for her. Thanks! Now just give Prince a hand 
with the horses, will you? He grows slower 
every day. ’ ’ 

Zeb sprang to the help of the negro and the 








380 


THE KING’S POWDER 


horses were soon in. Splendid fellows they 
were, young, strong, alert, reservoirs of energy 
that would flow strong to their last drop. 

“Good blood,” explained the young man in 
his rapid choppy style, “but too lively for farm 
use. Just right for this kind of work. Haven’t 
been out for two days. My name is Amos 
'Carpenter. Who are you?” 

And no sooner was he in possession of their 
names than he proceeded to use them. “Hold 
their heads, Prince, while Zeb puts me aboard. 
He looks able to do it, all right—There! 
Now, John; my musket. Come up here and let 
me lean against you. I guess Z'eb’ll have to do 
the drivin’. They’ll pull hard—Let ’em go, 
Prince! Out o’ the way for the ammunition- 
wagon ! ’ ’ 

His last words were drowned in increasing 
rumble. They were making speed at last! The 
wagon rolled, jolted, and clattered. Jolin, 
lurching from side to side, soon gave up all pre¬ 
tence to serve as a chair-back for Amos, and 
both stretched themselves for safety and com¬ 
fort flat on the hay. Here Amos talked inces¬ 
santly, apparently caring little whether he was 



THE KING’S POWDER 


381 


answered or not. Zeb stood erect, braced 
-against the reins, guiding the running pair. 

A mile farther on, where Zeb hauled down 
his steeds to climb a hill, they picked up a squad 
of four mounted men sent out by Stark as a 
convoy. The men could not tell whether the 
battle had begun or not; they brought orders 
to follow the regiment across Charlestown 
Neck. 

It was nearer two than one o’clock when 
the horses, streaked with lather, were brought 
to a stop again, this time in Medford. The 
troops had marched an hour and a half before. 
Five minutes delay to breathe the faithful 
animals, to swab out their mouths with water, 
to put to the gathering crowd questions that 
could not be answered—and the stout vehicle, 
destined either to bring succor at a crisis to 
hundreds of endangered patriots or to collapse 
in heart-breaking failure on the verge of 
success, lurched forward to its supreme 
effort. 

As they drew along the flats it seemed as if 
every British gun in Massachusetts were in 
service. The forts in Boston, the floating bat- 


382 


THE KING’S POWDER 


teries in the river, men-of-war unseen beyond 
the peninsula in the Charles, sent forth roar 
after roar. “A general cannonade,” thought 
John, trying to feed his hopes, “ would not be 
going on if the infantry had begun to attack. 
We shall be on time. W 7 e can’t fail now!” 

But his optimism was short-lived. Amos, sit¬ 
ting slanted against John’s shoulder, searching 
ahead with feverish eyes, was the first to make 
the fatal discovery. “I believe they’re shell¬ 
ing the Neck,” he said suddenly. “If they 
are, there’s no hope of getting the powder 
across.” 

John’s heart dragged heavily. He would not 
believe it. It could not be that they had come 
thus far with such providential leading only 
to be barred at the very gate of their destina¬ 
tion! In ten minutes, however, nothing was 
left of his cherished hopes but a stubborn de¬ 
termination to fight for them to the bitter end. 
Amos was right. The guns of the ships were 
blazing away at the narrow strip of land that 
led to Charlestown. He could see the earth 
spurt up when a ball furrowed the ground, the 
spray fly where another had struck the water 
close by the shore. Shells burst here and there 


THE KING’S POWDER 


383 


over the isthmus. There was not one chance 
in ten that the wagon could carry its precious 
burden safe under the shower of missiles. 

John raised his eyes to Zeb’s broad back, 
wondering whether he, too, had seen the im¬ 
passe before them and what ray of comfort he 
could discover. But Zeb apparently saw noth¬ 
ing but his horses and the stretch of road in 
front. He drove steadily on as if the cannon 
were roaring friendly salutes, and the pass 
along which their path lay must miraculously 
turn bomb-proof at their approach. 

As they neared a solitary house on the left 
of the road perhaps a quarter of a mile distant 
from the Neck, John, unable any longer to con¬ 
trol himself, reached up and plucked Zeb’s 
coat. Zeb paid no heed to the signal, but on 
reaching the lee of the house, reined the horses 
into the yard close to the building and pulled 
them to a standstill. John threw himself over 
the side to take the horses’ heads and when 
Zeb presently relieved him, turned toward the 
house where in the open rollway of the cellar 
he had a moment before caught a glimpse of 
the scared face of a child. The child had dis¬ 
appeared when he reached the entrance but at 





384 


THE KING’S POWDER 


the foot of the stone steps a woman, pale but 
composed, came to meet him. 

“Did Stark’s troops go by here a little while 
ago?” he asked. 

“Some troops marched past within an hour,” 
she answered with a calmness in marked con¬ 
trast to the trembling eagerness of the ques¬ 
tioner. “Seven or eight hundred I guess. 
They went over the Neck.” 

“Did they lose many men?” 

“Not one as far as I could see. They trod 
right on across as if there wasn’t any can¬ 
non-shots falling!” 

“There couldn’t have been such a hot fir^ 
then,” said John skeptically. 

“Oh I don’t know,” answered the woman.' 
“It’s been about the same all day. I was 
frightened at first, but the shots don’t come 
near here, and I don’t mind it much now. 
I thought if I stayed I could save some of my 
things.” 

John hurried back to report his news to 
Zeb. Amos had crawled to the front of the 
wagon where, leaning over, he listened greedily. 

“If they could do it, we can,” he shouted. 
“Let’s take the chance!” 


THE KING’S POWDER 


385 


John’s heart leaped at the words which har¬ 
monized well with his own wild impulse. He 
looked eagerly to Zeb, but Zeb’s face set like 
a flint. 4 ‘No, no!” he exclaimed with harsh 
abruptness. “It makes no difference what 
happens to us, hut the powder is priceless. 
We can’t gamble it away on a chance. We’ve 
got to wait a spell. Go and watch out there by 
the corner of the house and I’ll tend to the 
horses. They need a little lookin’ after.” 

He called to the men of the escort to bring 
water, and soothingly stroked the noses of 
the trembling animals. Their palpitating 
flanks ran with sweat; they panted for breath, 
with quivering distended nostrils, yet they still 
held their heads high; in their bloodshot eyes 
there was still fighting spirit and their grace¬ 
ful limbs that shivered at each louder roar 
showed vigor still. 

“Take me down!” pleaded Amos from the 
wagon. He worked his injured leg clear of 
the rack and fell forward upon John’s shoulder. 
Half hobbling, half dead weight, he was car¬ 
ried to the corner of the house where seated 
side by side the young men gazed in silence 
upon the strange scene. 




386 


THE KING’S POWDER 


The sky was cloudless. A gentle west wind 
swept the waving grass on the slope beyond 
the Neck, lifting from time to time the cloud 
of smoke that hung over the Glasgow Frigate 
in the Charles and revealing, as in a brief tab¬ 
leau, the belching ports and imposing upper 
works of the splendid ship. The hill was bare 
and unresponsive to the shots that hurtled over 
it, the earthworks on Breed’s Hill beyond 
being hidden by the crest between. From 
the frigate in the deep water of the Charles 
and the floating batteries anchored inshore, balls 
and shells—round, bar and chain shot—raked 
the deserted Neck. The air beat time to the 
explosions of the cannon in ponderous throbs. 
And through it all, dazed and deafened as he 
was, John could think of nothing but the crush¬ 
ing contrast between the waste of tons of am¬ 
munition, the scores of well-fed British can¬ 
non bellowing from the ships, and the frail 
musket-barrels of the New England farmers 
crouching on the hill with half-filled horns, and 
the pitiful insignificance of the few barrels of 
powder which Zeb and he had striven so hard 
to deliver and which now stood barred at the 
dead line. 


THE KING’S POWDER 


387 


John's lips moved. “They ought to let us 
by,” he said aloud. “What is our little load 
compared with the immense store they are 
throwing away !' 9 

“What did you say?" shouted Amos, lean¬ 
ing closer. “I didn't hear. Look at the fri¬ 
gate out there. Is she moving?” 

John fixed his gaze on the ship-of-war in the 
Charles. The firing slackened, the smoke, drift¬ 
ing away in the wind, removed its veil. The 
frigate was slowly swinging at her anchor- 
chains. Presently, where but now there had 
lain across his line of vision rows of port-holes 
vomiting fire, he was confronted by galleried 
stern. The puff of smoke rose again from the 
ship's sides, but no shots fell upon the isthmus. 
John darted a searching look toward the float¬ 
ing batteries and sprang to his feet. 

“They've turned their guns on the hill!” he 
shouted, beside himself with joy. “The Neck 
is open.” 

“Stop!" yelled Amos, reaching out his arms. 
“Don't leave me here. You promised, you 
know!'' 

John caught him up and staggering back to 
the wagon cried out his news. 


388 


THE KING’S POWDER 


“That’s what I was waiting for,” said Zeb 
as he lifted Amos up into the hay-rack. 
“They’re making ready for the assault. Now 
we can start.” 

He climbed to his place in the wagon, drew 
the reins tight and waving the soldier away 
from the horses’ heads, urged them forward. 
A minute later they were galloping across the 
Neck. 


CHAPTER IV 

No one denies that the American resistance 
at Bunker Hill was made without well-con¬ 
sidered plan and with hopeless inadequacy of 
preparation. Prescott’s gallant band after la¬ 
boring all night with their intrenching tools 
were left without support till almost midday. 
Even then the reinforcements barely equalled 
the losses by gradual melting away of the half¬ 
hearted. Warren came as a volunteer to 
strengthen the little company with presence and 
voice. Putnam bringing a handful of Connec¬ 
ticut troops yielded to Prescott’s authority and 
roving like a lion over the hill, applied his 
boundless energy wherever there was a gap to 
fill or a man to cheer. But not until the New 
Hampshire regiments arrived was there any 
considerable addition to the force. They got 
their orders from the hesitating Ward about 
noon, crossed the Neck under fire soon after 
two, and reached the intrenchment, eleven hun- 

389 



390 


THE KING’S POWDER 


dred strong, half an hour before the first at¬ 
tack. 

Stark saw immediately that the redoubt on 
the hilltop was indefensible if the slopes to¬ 
ward the Mystic were left open to an envelop¬ 
ing movement by the enemy. Always eager 
for independence in action, he led his forces 
straight down the incline at the left, and Reed 
followed him. 

Northward from the redoubt ran a short line 
of intrenchments manned by two hundred Con¬ 
necticut men. Beyond these, behind a stone 
wall topped by wooden rails, Reed stationed 
his regiment. Farther on, to the very edge 
of the water, Stark stretched his line. The men 
brought rails from a neighboring fence, propped 
them against the wall, and filled the spaces be¬ 
tween the rails with hay to offer the appearance 
of a bulwark. Across the open beach below 
the banks they heaped in haste a line of stones. 
Protected only by this fictitious rampart and 
the low barricade of stones, the intrepid pa¬ 
triots made ready for the fight. 

A gill of powder and a handful of bullets per 
man! Such was the allowance doled out to the 
defenders of the fence. As long as it lasted 


THE KING’S POWDER 


391 


they had no fear of bullet or bayonet, for, man 
and boy, they had used the musket since old 
enough to lift it. Along the beach appeared a 
deep, strong-marching column, company after 
company, pushed forward by Howe to flank the 
position. Up the slope advanced in long red 
lines the grenadiers, picked troops, their bay¬ 
onets gleaming in the sun, their officers uni¬ 
formed as for a fete, stepping jauntily forth 
to chase the contemptible foe. So well did 
Stark and Heed restrain their men that the red¬ 
coats actually began to think that the cowardly 
farmers would yield without a shot. They 
were soon undeceived. A nervous man far 
down the line set off his firelock. The British 
answered with an ill-directed volley, and 
pressed on firing steadily. Then all along the 
fence a sheet of flame leaped forth. The bul¬ 
lets found their mark. Whole lines of gay red 
uniforms sank to earth; officers disappeared, 
rank after rank melted away before the fierce 
and steady fire. When flesh and blood could 
endure no longer, the British broke and fled 
leaving their dead and writhing wounded in 
clusters and rows. 

So runs the well-known story, but not all the 


392 


THE KING’S POWDER 


story is in the history books. Delirium seized 
the defenders of the fence, an intoxication over 
their quick and sweeping victory. They fired 
wildly—wastefully—on the retreating foe. 
Many jumped the feeble barrier and started 
in pursuit, carried away by the delusion that 
the victory was won. Then gradually, as the 
fever of joy subsided, over one face and an¬ 
other crept a look of consternation. They saw 
the stubborn veterans reforming well down the 
hill for a fresh attack. Powder failed; some 
had but two charges left, some only one. With 
clenched fists and faces drawn with desperate 
resolve they looked down upon the threaten¬ 
ing foe and backward to the peaceful field 
through which retreat was still open. Many 
were mere boys no older than Zeb and John 
Spencer. The wicked gleam of bayonets seen 
but just now through the haze of smoke, still 
danced before their eyes. They could keep 
them off with powder and bullets but not with 
empty muskets. To shoot and run, to shoot 
and stay and fight with clubbed muskets till 
the bayonet did its work—these were the al¬ 
ternatives. 

They stayed, though panic was in the air. 
















THE KING'S POWDER 


393 


And while the officers ran to and fro, exhort¬ 
ing, beseeching them to remember the men in 
the redoubt, a horseman came galloping from 
the rear. He shouted something to Stark as 
he drew near whereat the old ranger started 
as if he had been struck, and stood motion¬ 
less with eyes fixed on the wagon-track that 
led backward through the uncut grass. And 
while he gazed, more horsemen appeared, and 
behind them two staggering horses white with 
foam, dragging a half-filled hay-cart over the 
front of which leaned a stalwart figure lash¬ 
ing their backs with the end of the reins. 

“The powder, sir!” shouted Zeb, as he pulled 
the horses to a fall behind the fence. “It’s 
under the hay!” 

An instant of silence, and then a yell, a rush! 
They swarmed like wild men about the wagon, 
snatching at the straw as starving dogs would 
snatch at food. The barrels were lifted out; 
clutched in strong arms they were borne swiftly 
along the line. Musket butts sank into the 
heads; with incredible swiftness the precious 
black dust, scooped out into horns and hats 
and handkerchiefs, was passed along the whole 
front. Behind the fence men whose cheeks but 


394 


THE KING’S POWDER 


a few minutes before bad blanched with terror 
at the thought of facing cold steel now laughed 
at their fears, as they knelt on the ground 
jubilantly packing cartridge-cases with powder 
and bullets. 

Time failed for congratulations. The three 
young men after watching their horses start 
slowly back with a load of wounded, found 
places in Dearborn’s company in the middle 
of the fence. Muskets were provided for Zeb 
and John,—taken from hands that would never 
hold muskets again. Amos sat on an empty 
keg, resting his gun-barrel on a stone in the 
wall. A spot of red glowed on his pallid cheek, 
his eyes flashed with the joy of a longing sat¬ 
isfied. Zeb, phlegmatic as ever, looked out 
upon the masses of red starting into motion 
as if meeting assault of the bravest soldiers in 
Christendom were only an incident in his ordi¬ 
nary day’s work. For the single-minded young 
blacksmith, the period of anxiety was ended; he 
had now but to wait for the command and obey 
it. 

John Spencer, glancing sidewise into the 
faces of his two companions despised himself 
for his buzzing head, his trembling hands, the 


THE KING’S POWDER 


395 


heavy pounding of his heart. He possessed 
neither Zeb’s ox-like stolidity nor the concen¬ 
tration of venom that controlled Amos’s nerves. 
He was not so much afraid as over-excited, 
strained by suspense, abnormally sensitive to 
the tension in the air. The dread of failure 
in the great emergency was strong upon him. 

But when the ordering of the enemy was 
finished and the gay-colored ranks began to 
move, the grandeur of the spectacle cast its 
spell upon him, charming his sense and deaden¬ 
ing his volatile emotions. The companies of 
Welsh fusiliers on the left—haughty veterans 
of Minden—marshaled in one deep, thick col¬ 
umn, flowed upward along the beach like a 
stream of molten iron, drums beating, swords 
flashing, meteor flags flying, the sunlight glanc¬ 
ing bright from bayonet and decoration. Be¬ 
fore him the lines of grenadiers, undaunted by 
the havoc already wrought in their ranks, came 
steadily on, their faces set against the storm 
of bullets that awaited them. They were bur¬ 
dened with thick coats and tall mitre-shaped 
hats, bright with historic emblems; heavy knap¬ 
sacks, each surmounted with a tightly rolled 
blanket, hung upon their backs; the broad white 


396 


THE KING’S POWDER 


stripe across the breast was a magnet for the 
sharpshooter’s bullet—but they gave no sign 
of hesitation as they climbed fence after fence 
and drew their lines straight again. Heavy 
masses of red pressing upward showed them¬ 
selves on the slope below the redoubt and be¬ 
yond them appeared leaping flames and drift¬ 
ing billows of smoke from burning Charles¬ 
town. Artillery roared continuously from fleet 
and battery, in front and flank; shells screamed 
through the air above, cannon balls dug up the 
earth behind. Small wonder was it that when 
steeple platforms, roofs of houses, neighboring 
hilltops were crowded thick with stunned spec¬ 
tators, John Spencer should have lost himself 
in the confusion of impressions that fell on eye 
and ear. 

He was soon awakened by the firing of ad¬ 
vancing troops. The balls for the most part 
sang harmless overhead. Captain Dearborn, 
passing along the line, urged his men to keep 
their fire low. Zeb fitted his musket stock to 
his shoulder, picked out his mark, and waited. 
Automatically John followed his example. He 
had thrown off his paralyzing care about the 
issue; he was now but a hunter watching the 


THE KING’S POWDER 


397 


game move into range. When the word came 
he drew instant head and tired. As he pulled 
back his weapon for a new loading, he was 
conscious of no other emotion than the thrill 
of joy which a marksman feels in the true¬ 
ness of his aim, and no other anxiety but to 
shoot again after the briefest possible delay. 
The frenzied haste of loading and tiring left no 
room for straying thoughts. 

At the first murderous volley, the redcoats, 
mowed down by rows, hesitated and halted. 
Their officers rushed among them arguing, 
threatening, striking. On they came again, but 
wavered once more as whole ranks melted away 
to become gruesome stumbling blocks at the 
feet of their survivors. Companies were re¬ 
duced to scattered handfuls, bewildered rem¬ 
nants of a flock stripped of its shepherds. 
Crazed by the fury of battle, our boys shouted 
to each other as they loaded and discharged 
their muskets. “See that officer yonder?” one 
would cry. “Watch me get him!” If Amos 
failed, John made good the failure; when John 
missed, Zeb shot true. Awful was the work of 
these kindly-hearted young yeomen, forced 
through the stupid obstinacy of a German king 


398 


THE KING’S POWDER 


to slaughter like imprisoned game men of their 
own race, with whom individually they had no 
quarrel. 

In ten minutes it was over. Panic-smitten, 
the British fell back, some fleeing even to the 
boats. The nearest heap of slain lay barely 
twenty yards from the fence; beyond, the 
ground was checkered red with dead and 
wounded. John passed his hand across his 
forehead and sank down faint with the strain 
of the ghastly work which he had been so 
eager to perform. About him rang shouts of 
triumph and men danced with joy, but not a 
sound could he bring forth from his lips. Shud¬ 
dering with horror he lifted his eyes toward Zeb 
and found him supporting Amos, whose head 
drooped upon Zeb’s shoulder while blood soaked 
his flannel sleeve and dripped fast from his 
hanging fingers. A British ball had furrowed 
his arm from elbow to shoulder. 

The sight brought John to his feet again. 
With Zeb’s help he cut the sleeve from the 
wounded arm and knotted a handkerchief tight 
about it close to the armpit. He obtained a 
strip of linen from the nearest surgeon, who 
was too busy to give more than a glance at 


THE KING’S POWDER 


399 


Amos’s wound, and with it bound up the long- 
gouge with fair skill. A drink from a com¬ 
rade’s flask revived the light in Amos’s eyes. 

“ Just my luck,” he said, smiling feebly. “I 
never get into a fight without catching a bullet. 
Thank goodness they only take a piece of me 
at a time. Don’t bother about me; put me 
down anywhere.” 

The boys looked at each other perplexed as 
to the proper disposal of their helpless friend. 
The wagon was gone, there were no ambulances, 
and no provision had been made for the removal 
of the injured. Amos must wait and take nis 
chance of neglect on the field. 

“I’ll be all right as soon as I get over this 
faintness, ’ ’ asserted Amos, bravely. “ It’s just 
a scratch along the skin. Just give me a piece 
of something from your knapsack to nibble on 
and leave a canteen near my left hand. I’ll 
get on all right.” 

Zeb reached for the bag in which were the re¬ 
mains of the cold provisions brought from Dur¬ 
ham. John, glancing helplessly back over the 
field, sighted a haycock beyond the zone that 
had been stripped to furnish the fence its sham 
filling—and darted away. Zeb followed his 


400 


THE KING’S POWDER 


example. They soon had Amos propped up in 
a fragrant arm-chair, vowing that he was now 
quite able to take care of himself. Then they 
took their position again behind the imitation 
wall from which a gallant general and the 
most determined soldiers in the world had twice 
retired in desperate rout. 

There was no lack of confidence among the 
men at the fence. Their cartridges were fewer 
now, but they themselves were eager for the 
opportunity to spend what remained. Exult¬ 
ing in their twice-tested powers, they watched 
with straining eyes the redcoats paraded at 
the water’s edge, and the barges arriving from 
Boston with reinforcements. The sight left 
them unterrified. “What are they waiting 
for!” exclaimed one to another along the line. 
“Haven’t they always said we were cowards 
who would break at the sight of a regular! 
Let them come on! The more they bring, the 
more they’ll lose.” 

For a long time it seemed as if there was 
to be no third assault. It came at last, but 
this time the fence was not the objective. Howe 
had had enough of the fence; he concentrated 
his attack on the redoubt. Only a thin force 


THE KING'S POWDER 


401 


advanced towards Stark’s line, halting at a safe 
distance while their field-guns took a position 
to rake the rampart adjoining the redoubt, and 
the main body pushed forward with fixed bay¬ 
onets straight for Prescott’s little stronghold. 
Powerless to aid, John and Zeb with all their 
fellows at the fence could but stare in agony 
at the gleaming points crowding steadily up 
the slope toward the redoubt and guess at the 
movement of the detachments out of sight be¬ 
yond. They saw the red wave roll to the apron 
of the fort, envelop it and pour over the edge 
into a cloud of dust and smoke. They saw Pres¬ 
cott’s helpless men, their ammunition spent, 
their muskets silent, break in retreat through 
the rear gate and over the wall. With despair 
in their hearts they heard the British cheer 
which announced the position won. Not until 
the enemy appeared behind the redoubt and 
the Americans were streaming in flight up the 
steeps of the higher hill beyond, did Stark give 
the order to retreat. 

The British did not pursue—horror at the 
awful price paid for victory robbed Howe of 
all joy in his bargain, and the sharpshooters 
who had held the fence inviolate still hung on 


402 


THE KING’S POWDER 


his flank—but they drew up beyond the ram¬ 
part and delivered volley after volley at the 
fugitives climbing for their lives up Bunker’s 
Hill. Historians have commented with sur¬ 
prise on the dogged resistance with which 
Stark’s companies of raw militia guarded the 
retreat. In truth they begrudged every yard 
of territory they yielded. All about Zeb and 
John, while comrades were falling, rose the 
muttering of stubborn fighters who rebelled at 
leaving ground which they still believed them¬ 
selves capable of defending. Zeb carried Amos 
in his arms. Now and again he would hand 
his groaning burden over to John and kneel 
amid whistling bullets for a shot at some con¬ 
spicuous uniform. They had three muskets 
now, these two, and they used every cartridge 
they possessed. Worn with the strain of the 
long day, crushed by the disappointment of 
a defeat undeserved, they dragged themselves 
across the isthmus out of reach of British 
cannon. 

On the Cambridge side, Amos found fellow 
townsmen who insisted on taking charge of him. 
Pallid and faint from loss of blood and much 
jolting, he held out his uninjured hand to the 


THE KING’S POWDER 


403 


old friends of a day’s acquaintance and sorrow¬ 
fully bade them good-by. 

“I’ll see you again before long,” he said. 
“I sha’n’t forget what you’ve done for me.” 

“And we won’t forget what you’ve done for 
us, and for all the men at the fence!” returned 
John, with a quaver in his voice. Weakened 
as he was in spirit by labor and disappoint¬ 
ment, he found it difficult to maintain the bear¬ 
ing of the hardened soldier. By associating 
Amos with them in their enterprise the devoted 
pair had become an equally devoted trio. Re¬ 
duced again to dual comradeship they both felt 
bereaved. 

“Do you think we’ll ever see him again?” 
John asked after an interval as they plodded 
on toward Winter Hill. 

“Why not?” said Zeb. “If we stay here 
long enough, he’ll turn up. He won’t keep 
away any longer than he has to.” 

They worked that night to final exhaustion, 
throwing up intrenchments on Winter Hill. 
When morning dawned they looked across to 
a new fort on Bunker’s Hill whence the enemy 
showed no disposition to advance. During the 
day the boys obtained a certain amount of rest, 


404 


THE KING’S POWDER 


and with rest and full consideration they found 
some measure of consolation in their defeat. 
The British had gained a hill at the cost of a 
thousand dead of their best troops, but they 
were still as closely besieged as ever. Stark’s 
men could not know that the tost battle was to 
be the critical event which should bind the 
colonies together; nor could they anticipate that 
the daring Howe, shocked by the massacre of 
his veterans at redoubt and fence, would never 
afterwards venture to attack the Americans in 
an entrenched position. But they did know 
that two-thirds of the enemy’s dead and 
wounded had fallen before the sharpshooters at 
the fence, and they were content with their rec¬ 
ord. 


CHAPTER V 


A fortnight later Washington arrived to 
take command of the besieging army. In the 
course of his inspection of the various stations 
he came to the post of New Hampshire regi¬ 
ments on Winter Hill. The troops were drawn 
up to receive him—plain men of the farm and 
waterside with not a uniform among them, 
every gun the pet of its owner, but no two in 
the same rank alike, whole companies without 
a bayonet. The commander-in-chief, recogniz¬ 
ing that here was but the raw material for an 
army, perceived at the same time that, as mate¬ 
rial, it was good. As he rode along the lines, 
scrutinizing with kindly eyes the unsoldierlike 
bearing of the militiamen, John and Zeb, gaz¬ 
ing their fill on his impressive figure, glowed 
with a new enthusiasm for the cause in which 
this kingly man was to be their leader. Later, 
to their astonishment, they were summoned to 
Stark’s headquarters. 

The boys followed close on the heels of the 

405 



406 


THE KING’S POWDER 


orderly who had brought the message. As 
they approached the building and saw through 
the door Washington standing in conversation 
with their colonel and General Folsom, they 
stopped short with a common impulse. 

“We’d better wait till he’s gone,” said Zeb. 
“He doesn’t want to see us.” 

But Stark catching sight of them beckoned 
them forward. “These, General, are the young 
men of whom I spoke,” said Stark, as the 
boys entered and stood in silence, holding their 
three-cornered hats in their hands. “It was the 
supply of powder they brought which enabled 
us to hold the fence.” 

Ignorant that the commander’s greatest anx¬ 
iety was even then the small stock of ammuni¬ 
tion available for the siege, and overcome with 
the feeling that Stark was making too much of 
their little exploit, they blushed with confusion 
and shifted awkwardly on their feet* But 
Washington’s gracious manner soon put them 
at their ease. He thanked them for their serv¬ 
ice in the name of the army, and questioned 
them closely as to the chance of obtaining fur¬ 
ther supplies from the same source. Before 


THE KING’S POWDER 


407 


he dismissed them, he turned to Stark with 
the remark: “If Congress ever grants me a 
body-guard, I hope you will permit me to draft 
these young men into it.” 

“If they are here then,” answered Stark 
ruefully. 1 ‘ These men of mine are like a school 
of fish, here to-day and gone to-morrow. They 
turned out by hundreds to fight the redcoats, 
but now that fighting is slack they all want 
furloughs to go home and tend their crops.” 

“We’ll be here anyway, sir,” vowed Spen¬ 
cer. 

The commander’s eye dwelt with pleasure 
on the impetuous young face. “For how 
long?” he asked quietly. 

“As long as we are needed, sir,” answered 
John. 

“Till the end of the war!” declared Zeb. 

A gleam of satisfaction flashing in Washing¬ 
ton’s eyes broke for an instant the calm of his 
face. “Those are words I like to hear, General 
Folsom,” he exclaimed. “Would to God that 
every Minute Man before Boston were animated 
by the same sentiments. If we could secure en¬ 
listments on such terms, the task of forming an 


408 


THE KING’S POWDER 


American army would be vastly easier.’’ He 
turned to the waiting boys: “You may go,” 
he said, kindly. “I shall remember you.” 

A little later the boys got leave of absence 
for a week, a leave the more readily granted, 
as their commander felt sure of their return; 
and John was able to come to a final under¬ 
standing with his father. Though still con¬ 
vinced that the colonies were headed toward 
destruction, Mr. Spencer had cast in his lot 
definitely with his countrymen, and purposed 
to share their risk and fate. Particularly hard 
on the older man was the separation from 
many of his friends and business associates in 
the Portsmouth district, who, being Tories, 
were forced to abandon their property and flee 
for protection to the British lines. In his first 
conversation with Priscilla, John asked news 
of her friends in the Kittery mansion. 

“It is a sad and lonely house,” said the girl. 
“The sons are all loyalists, as you know. They 
have gone and may never return. The parents 
are in feeble health and distracted with anx¬ 
iety.” 

“Miss Mary has her captain to comfort her, 
I suppose,” said John, with some bitterness. 


THE KING’S POWDER 


409 


“He sees her occasionally. The Canceau is 
not in the harbor now.” 

“Does she still believe him innocent of try¬ 
ing to kidnap me ? ’ ’ 

“I don’t know. I have never asked.” 

“Then yon didn’t tell her about that affair 
at the sugar-house? Rafer confessed then that 
he was acting under Captain Mowatt’s orders.” 

“I told her about the attack on you, but I 
said naught of the captain.” 

“Why not? He is a villain and ought to be 
unmasked.” 

Priscilla laughed gently. “I’m not an offi¬ 
cer of the colony. I’m merely Miss Mary’s 
personal friend, and I wouldn’t disturb her 
peace of mind by accusing one that she ad¬ 
mires. It would be different if she were 
likely to marry him, but I think she’s quite safe 
from that. As long as she treats him like a 
hero, it may be that he ’ll strive to be one in her 
eyes. Moreover, she may have need of his pro¬ 
tection one of these days.” 

John pondered this statement for some time. 
“I hope not,” he said finally. “I’d he loth 
to think of her in a position to require his pro¬ 
tection, What is it that you fear?” 


410 


THE KING’S POWDER 


“Nothing definite. I don’t pretend to know 
the future. I just have the notion that some¬ 
time he may be of service to her.” 

“A pretty forlorn hope, I should say, from 
what I know of him. ’Tis no affair of mine, 
anyway. So far as I am concerned, the whole 
thing is over and done with. You were prob¬ 
ably right about telling Miss Mary, but if I 
had been in your place, I’d have blurted it all 
out. I don’t see how you attain to such wis¬ 
dom. ’ ’ 

“I don’t attain to it, it comes to me,” said 
Priscilla demurely; “and ’t is not that I’m 
wise, but that I’m not so foolish—” 

“As I am,” John completed with a grin. 
“I’m blind and you see.” 

“Oh, no! You see what’s under your nose. 
I can see some things that are a bit farther 
off.” 

“In other words you’re a witch. Now, a 
hundred years ago—” 

“Oh, bother your hundred years ago!” in¬ 
terrupted Priscilla. “But just remember one 
thing: no man was ever charged with being a 
witch. He couldn’t be. No man ever had the 
ability!” 


THE KING’S POWDER 411 

“What about Giles Corey?” put in John 
quickly. 

Priscilla, taken aback at this reminder, was 
silent for a moment, but only a moment. 

“Oh, he was an exception,” she flung back 
at him, “the exception that proves the rule.” 

So we leave with Priscilla, as is fitting, the 
last word, which she doubtless continued to 
have, for the most part, to the end of her days. 
It should be remarked that in the case of Miss 
Sparhawk and the captain of the Cancea/w her 
wisdom was proved. Tradition has it that late 
in the same year Captain Mowatt, when on the 
point of bombarding Portsmouth, was deterred 
from his purpose by the intercession of Mary 
Sparhawk. Instead, he found an opportunity 
to vent his accumulated spite on Falmouth, now 
Portland, which he burnt to the ground in 
December, 1775. 

It was seven months before John and Zeb 
laid eyes on Amos again. They had held out 
patiently during the protracted waiting of the 
siege of Boston, when familiar faces were con¬ 
stantly disappearing and the new ones did not 
stay long enough to become familiar. But on 
the morning when they looked down on the 


412 


THE KING’S POWDER 


startled British from their half-finished works 
on Dorchester Heights, they felt amply repaid 
for their endurance. A few days more, and 
they were in the town, helping to gather up the 
war supplies abandoned by Howe in his hur¬ 
ried flight. Here they found Amos, who had 
just finished his service with the three-day men 
called out for special duty—a changed Amos, 
for the color of health showed on his cheek and 
vigor declared itself in every movement of his 
body. 

u How are you?” they demanded eagerly. 
“All right again?” 

“Right as a trivet!” Amos made answer. 
“'Haven’t worn a bandage for months. I’d like 
to show you two what I can do when I’m my¬ 
self.” 

“That’s easy,” said Zeb. “Join our regi¬ 
ment. ’ ’ 

Amos shook his head, laughing. “A citi¬ 
zen of Massachusetts join a New Hampshire 
regiment! Oh, no. You’d better join with us.” 

“There’ll be a Continental army one of these 
days,” said Zeb. “We can all three enlist in 
it together.” 


THE KING’S POWDER 


413 


‘‘1 know a better way than that,’ 9 announced 
John. “We’ll wait till the General’s body¬ 
guard is formed and get Amos in.” 

“How do you know you can get in your¬ 
selves ? 9 9 demanded Amos. 

Zeb swelled himself proudly. “Because 
General Washington offered to take us.” 

“Yes, he told us himself that he wanted us 
there,” added John, chuckling at the incredu¬ 
lous look on Amos’s face. 

“Are you trying to make sport of me, or are 
you telling me the truth?” 

“The absolute truth.” 

Amos glanced from one to the other, and be¬ 
gan to be convinced. “I wonder what you did 
to make him notice you! I never have any 
luck. I get none of the good chances and all 
the knocks and bullets. Work me in, if you 
can, and maybe there’ll be luck enough to pass 
around. ’ ’ 

Now it did happen later that the trio became 
comrades in Washington’s body-guard, which 
performed its first duty in New York, and that 
the three young guardsmen took part in certain 
exploits which their descendants, at least, 


414 


THE KING’S POWDER 


might hold quite worthy of remembrance. All 
this, however, has nothing to do with the pow¬ 
der from the fort, which is the subject of this 
narrative. The powder is spent, the tale is told. 


THE END 


PHILLIPS EXETER SERIES 

By A. T. DUDLEY 

Cloth, i2mo Illustrated by Charles Copeland 

FOLLOWING” THE BALL 

ERE is an up-to-date story presenting American boarding-school 
life and modern athletics. Football is an important feature, but it 
is a story of character formation in which athletics play an important past. 

“ Mingled with the story of football is another and higher endeavor, giving the 
book the best of moral tone.”— Chicago Record-Herald. 

MAKING THE NINE 

T HE life presented is that of a real school, interesting* diversified^ 
and full of striking incidents, while the characters are true and 
consistent types of American boyhood and youth. The athletics are 
technically correct, abounding in helpful! suggestions, and the mosai 
tone is high and set by action rather than preaching. 

“The story is healthful, for, while it exalts athletics, it does not overlook the 
fact that studious habits and noble character are imperative needs for those who 
would win success in life.”— Herald and Presbyter , Cincinnati . 

IN THE LINE 

T ELLS how a stalwart young student won his position as guard, and 
at the same time made equally marked progress in the formation of 
character. Plenty of jolly companions contribute a strong, humorous 
element, and the book has every essential of a favorite. 

“ The book gives boys an interesting stor_v much football information, and many 
lessons in true manliness.”-— Watchman, Boston . 


With Mask and Mitt 

W HILE baseball plays an important part 
in this story, it is not the only element 
of attraction. While appealing to the natural 
normal tastes of boys for fun and interest in 
the national game, the book, without preach¬ 
ing, lays emphasis on the building up of 
character. 

“No normal boy who is interested in our great 
national game can fail to find interest and profit, too, 
in thL lively boarding school story.”— Interior , 
Chicago. 


For sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price 

by the publishers, 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON 











PHILLIPS EXETER SERIES 

By A. T. DUDLEY 

Cloth 12mo Illustrated 


THE GREAT YEAR 

‘"'pHREB fine, manly comrades, respectively captains of the football, 
A baseball, and track and field athletic teams, make a compact to sup¬ 
port each other so that they may achieve a “great year” of triple victory 
over their traditional rival, “ Hillbury.” 


THE YALE CUP 

T HE “Cup” is an annual prize given by a club of Yale alumni to the 
member of the Senior class of each of several preparatory schools 
“who best combines proficiency in athletics with good standing in his 
studies.” 


A FULL-BACK AFLOAT 

A T the close of his first year in college Dick Melvin is induced to earn 
a passage to Europe by helping on a cattle steamer. The work is not 
so bad, but Dick finds ample use for the vigor, self control, and quick 
wit in emergency which he has gained from football. 


THE PECKS IN CAMP 


T HE Pecks are twin brothers so resembling each other that, it was almost 
impossible to tell them apart, a fact which the roguish lads made the 

most of in a typical summer camp for boys. 



THE HALF-MILER 

"pHIS is the story of a young man of posi« 
* tive character facing the stern problem 
of earning his way in a big school. The 
hero is not an imaginary compound of 
superlatives, but a plain person of flesh and 
blood, aglow with the hopeful idealism of 
youth, wDo succeeds and is not spoiled by 
success. He can run, and he does run — 
through the story. 

** It is a good, wholesome, and true-to-life story, 
with plenty of happenings such as normal boys en¬ 
joy reading about .’'—Brooklyn Daily Times. 


For tale by all booksellers or seat postpaid on receipt of 
price by the • publishers 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON 
























































































